


Night & Day

by Anonymous_1701



Category: Fred Astaire - Fandom, Fred Astaire - Ginger Rogers movies, Ginger Rogers - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Golden Age Hollywood, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Inspired by Real Events, Old Hollywood - Freeform, Slow Burn, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_1701/pseuds/Anonymous_1701
Summary: STORY THREE - Going into their second movie, Fred and Ginger have to figure out a way to work together. Their onscreen chemistry is nothing compared to what happens off screen, and they fight their mutual attraction every step of the way. Are they successful or not?Follows the movie "The Gay Divorcee" from 1934.
Relationships: Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Faster

She handed over her business managers’ phone number with a dazzling outward smile and an inner grimace. The bewildered man took the slip of paper from her fingers as if it were the Hope Diamond, his fingers shaking slightly. Stuttering through a thank you, he put it carefully into his pocket.

“You’re sure that you’re okay, Miss Rogers?” he asked, inching towards his car door. He turned his bowler hat around in his hand in a circle, creasing the brim in an increasingly fast twirl. Ordinarily, the actress would be thrilled with the new experience of being recognized, but not in this situation.

“Yes, I’m quite fine. I’m sorry that I hit you.” She pointed at the paper slip. “Just call that number and my manager will be happy to pay for the damages on my behalf. I’m so sorry.”

The round banker tipped his hat to her as he climbed into his car and carefully backed it up away from the scene of their fender bender, the mangled bumper scraping along the asphalt. He drove away much more cautiously than when he’d entered the intersection. He would have quite the story to tell when he got home to his family.

Ginger wanted to get out of here lickety-split before the police showed up and gave her another ticket to add to her impressive collection. She brushed dust off of her hands and rehearsal slacks and rubbed at her tired eyes in frustrated silence. She had let her attention lapse while daydreaming about Fred’s latest dance moves. Romance practically oozed out of them. To think that he had choreographed these moves specifically for her made her tingle in all the wrong places. As a result of her inattention, she had blown straight through the red light at forty five miles per hour and nailed the banker’s car. 

She had enough on her mind, without adding police involvement to it all. She’d managed to make it through two weeks of dance rehearsals with Fred, keeping it professional and definitely not allowing herself to fall into his arms, or bed, again. They had not seen each other for half of a year since their first film together last fall. It was so hard to remember that Fred was married when he looked at her like she hung the moon and held her close. It was challenging to keep her head about her when dancing with their bodies pressed together, sweating, and touching, practically sharing the same air, for eight hours a day. However, she was grimly determined to keep this on the up-and-up, and focus on her relationship with Lew, whom she’d been dating for nearly a year now. Fred was married and not to her. It still rankled. She still wanted him.

Driving more carefully to the studio and ignoring the slight wobble to the wheel, she entered the Gower Gate and ignored the dismayed exclamations of the security guards as well as she drove past them to her designated parking spot. Slamming the door in disgust, she surveyed the damage. It could have been worse, she decided. On the inside, their dinner was all over the interior, the boxed up food splashed onto every surface. She had been driving back from a break to pick up some dinner for the three of them. They had been locked into the soundstage for rehearsals all day and into the early evening, and the studio kitchen was closed for the night. She’d have to get the car detailed, and in the meantime, now there was no dinner for herself, Fred, and Hermes. She wasn’t looking forward to explaining this. She liked this car, too. She’d bought it with her “Flying Down to Rio” paychecks and was her first nice vehicle. This was the third time she’d have to fix it. 

Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and she had a whole weekend to manage this most recent catastrophe. Now that the adrenaline was gone, she was conscious of a few sharp twinges of pain in her own neck and a bump on her forehead that she hadn’t noticed earlier. She stretched and hissed at the jolt of pain that resulted. That seemed par for the course – this whole thing was a pain in the neck.

She walked into the cavernous sound stage and looked for her dance partners. Not seeing anyone, she poked her head into Fred’s dressing room on his corner of the sound stage.

“Hey Fred? I’ve got a little problem,” she said, feeling calmer by the minute just being here. Fred always made her feel safe. His slim but strong figure was folded into a chair, thumbing through his script. 

“Oh yeah? What’s up?” he said. He jumped up from his chair with an economy of motion and came to her, smiling playfully. 

She sighed. He was going to freak out when he saw what she’d done. Resignedly, she kinked her finger at him and walked back out towards her wrecked car. 

“I sent Hermes home, by the way, he looked beat.” Fred said, “He asked to toss his dinner in the fridge, and he’d eat it tomorrow.”

“Well, about that…” she closed her eyes as she heard his gasp behind her as they exited the stage. “Dinner is most definitely tossed.”

The 1929 Duesenberg, pure white and one of a kind, was a beautiful car and fortunately made out of heavy, quality steel. One headlight was crushed, and the front bumper was mangled, forced upwards over the hood. Now that she saw it again, she wasn’t even sure how she had managed to drive it to the studio – the front tire and wheel well was all bent out of shape. Well, at least she had a good working relationship with a garage. She did a good job of keeping her mechanic in business. She rubbed at the back of her neck where something was twinging painfully.

Fred circled the car, his arms crossed over his chest and glared at his dance partner balefully every so often.

“I’m fine,” she answered, “it was just a fender bender.” 

“How fast were you going this time?” he asked, beginning to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulder muscles. She moaned as his fingers hit an especially tight spot. 

She could hear the worry in his voice, and it reminded her that she was supposed to be staying away from him, not giving him opportunities to touch her unnecessarily with his strong hands and talented fingers. She stepped away from him. 

“I wasn’t going that fast!” she protested, “he came out of nowhere!”

“Uh, huh,” he answered, clicking his tongue. He had heard that before. Worrying about Ginger’s speeding tickets and accidents gave him nightmares. There was nothing slow about Ginger. She tended to crash through life at full speed. Her exuberance and zest for life was one things he appreciated about her because he was the exact opposite, being far too cautious. On the other hand, it was also one of the things that he liked least because she was headstrong and reckless. He couldn't keep up with her as she hurtled from one adventure to another, or in this case, one calamity to another. 

“All right, that’s it. No more rehearsal,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at her some more for good measure. “And, you’re seeing a nurse, at least.”

Her mouth opened to protest but he cut her off. “No arguing. You could have whiplash. First the doc, then you’re going home and resting.” 

Half an hour later, a grumpy Ginger pouted as the set medic from the movie shooting next door declared that she had a mild concussion and probable whiplash and told Fred that she shouldn’t be left alone. 

“You can call a garage, and have it towed tomorrow, and I can have someone here clean it.” Fred wasn’t taking no for an answer. “We were about done anyway. Go get your things and I’ll drive you home.”

***************************

A half hour later, he pulled into the familiar driveway of the three bedroom home Ginger shared with her mother Lela and her cousin, Phyllis. The small Spanish revival style cottage was familiar, though he’d only been inside a couple of times. He noticed that there were no other cars in the driveway. 

“Where’s your mother and cousin?”

“They’re in New York for the week,” she replied, a flutter in her stomach. She had so far been highly successful at staying away from Fred alone, and this situation just blew that right out of the water. Not only was she alone with him, she was alone and at home with him with no one else likely to interrupt them. Maybe she could convince him that she was fine and just needed to sleep, though she felt achy and restless and probably wouldn’t sleep easily. She felt a headache coming on, too.

Fred rushed over to open the car door for Ginger, noticing as he did so that she was moving slower than usual. He gave her a hand and helped her out. She winced as she stood and walked to the entryway. Fumbling in her purse, she found the key and opened the door to a dark house. Fred flipped on the lights and locked the door behind them. 

“Give me this,” Fred took her purse and keys and set them on the entry way table. With a firm hand behind her, he marched her straight to the bathroom and began to run a hot bath. He noticed her bathrobe hung on the hook behind the door, so she’d have something to change in to afterwards. She wasn’t even protesting as he pushed her into the small room, which made him worry that maybe she was more hurt than she appeared to be. “In you go!” 

He listened at the closed door until he heard the water shut off and the sounds of her getting into the tub. Hurrying down the hallway, he found her room without much effort. It was the very girlie one, with shoes everywhere on the floor, sweaters and dresses draped over several every flat surface and the disheveled closet that was stuffed to overflowing. She had told him earlier this week that she was thinking about sizing up when she could afford a new house. If he had to guess, he’d say it was because she needed a separate room specifically as a wardrobe. Clothing was everywhere. He kicked aside several pairs of heels, sandals, and sports shoes as he made his way to the dresser and picked out a random pair of underwear and pajamas. He tried not to think too much about the lace trimmed panties nor to wonder if this is what she regularly wore under her boring rehearsal slacks. He knew he was already pushing his luck just by being in the house alone with her. Gawking at her underwear was not going to be helpful just now. 

She squealed in surprise when he knocked on the bathroom door. He cracked it and tossed the clothing on top of the bathroom countertop. He tried his best to ignore the image of her reflected in the mirror. Fortunately, it was sufficiently steamy and blurred. He hurriedly shut it and forced his mind back to the task at hand, which was finding something for dinner, since theirs was currently residing on the seat and floor of her car. Maybe if he just kept moving, he could outrace his thoughts. Especially thoughts of Ginger naked in the bathtub right now twenty feet from him. 

Cracking open the refrigerator, he was delighted to find it fully stocked. Ginger loved to cook. He himself did not particularly like to cook and it was one thing he delegated to Phyllis. 

It grounded him to think his wife. It was like a dash of ice water down his spine, and he took a deep calming breath to keep his wits about him. She would certainly not be very happy that he was at Ginger’s house right now. Phyllis was displeased with Fred making movies with his beautiful, fit, and famous ex-girlfriend, and when she and Ginger had met, it had been a very awkward situation. The cold had blown off his wife like a glacier’s icy wind and Ginger hadn’t backed down an inch. He knew Phyllis suspected that they had become romantically involved on their last movie. Fred had steadfastly refused to admit anything, and it resulted in an uneasy truce between the two newlyweds. 

However, he couldn’t just leave Ginger here by herself, with a concussion. Ginger hated doctors and frequently ignored their advice. The medic specifically had said that she couldn’t be alone. He made a quick decision and called to tell his wife that he was staying over at Hermes’ house tonight. Hanging up the phone, the guilt churned in his gut. He convinced himself that making sure Ginger was okay was more important than the little white lie he’d just told his wife. 

He pulled eggs and milk out of the fridge and prepared to make scrambled eggs, one of the few things he knew how to make and actually liked. He wasn’t a big eater. He turned his attention to her pantry and contemplated the meticulously organized contents and found bread for toast and an unopened jar of jam. Cooing happily, he grabbed a small bottle of vanilla extract, too, and a jar of honey, determined to make her a hot cup of honey-vanilla milk. His mother had always made that for him when he was a little boy and couldn’t sleep. He dumped everything on the counter.  


He was deep into his plans and preparations and searching for butter when Ginger stepped silently into the kitchen in bare feet. She leaned across the breakfast bar, surveying the damage to her usually spotless kitchen and the view of Fred rummaging round inside her refrigerator.

“Hey, watcha doing?” she said. 

Fred stood fast and whirled around. He hadn’t heard her approach at all. The butter tumbled out of his hand and hit the floor. Fortunately, it was wrapped in butcher paper and none the worse for wear, and he retrieved it. 

“Shit balls,” he swore, making her smile at his surprise. “I’m making you dinner.” 

It was so sweet that Ginger immediately forgave him for the disarray. The foodstuffs spread out on her countertop were outnumbered by the dishes and pots and pans he’d pulled out of the cupboards.  


“Oh my,” she said, “Can I help you?” Her blue eyes twinkled with her usual mischief.

Fred was actually quite relieved. He could cook eggs, but he wasn’t an expert. He handed her the block of butter and Ginger scooted him out of the way. In seconds she had the eggs and toast going. 

“What’s the vanilla for?” she asked, curious. 

“It’s my mom’s secret recipe,” Fred replied.

“Oh, hot milk?” Ginger said, “Good idea.” In another sauce pan she began warming the milk, careful not to let it reach a boil.

Fred shrugged. Of course, she knew how to make it. He watched as she warmed the milk, then added the vanilla and honey at the last minute as the simple meal came together with perfect timing. Grabbing the two plates and silverware, he started towards the dining room, but she shook her head and led him to the outdoor patio.

“It’s so nice outside tonight, we can eat out here,” she said, sitting carefully down on the chaise lounge on the covered patio. The early June weather in Los Angeles was warm and sunny, even this late in the evening. The bougainvillea flowers that wound up the lattice on the side of the patio were a flurry of red and pink and spent petal carpeted the Mexican tiled flooring. The aquamarine pool glittered invitingly in the golden hour sun. Fred grabbed another chair and they dug into their simple meal. Ginger drank her hot milk without protest. 

They sat and talked on the patio for another hour about nothing much, until she was beginning to nod sleepily. The sun had just set, and the patio was growing dark. Fred was surprised at how easy this was and warned himself sternly to be on his best behavior. It would be extremely easy to let the natural camaraderie they shared lure him into inappropriateness. Hanging out with her was so easy, their conversation unforced and genuine; they could talk and laugh for hours if he wasn’t careful. He had to fight against it with every smile he gave her and every time she laughed at something he said. 

Normally, Ginger was a whirlwind of chatter, her quicksilver mind flickering from one subject to another. Tonight, she was quiet, and Fred did most of the talking. He began to worry that she might be really hurt and hiding it. Or maybe she really was tired as she had told him that she was. She’d made three movies back-to-back between wrapping Rio in December and starting their movie two weeks ago, with barely a few days between shoots. The studio was working her too hard, but she was too stubborn or scared to tell them so, and Fred worried that she wouldn’t have the stamina to dance well. Moving from that straight into 8 hours of rehearsal dancing every day was tough. Maybe he should make rehearsals a bit shorter or add in more breaks. What if the car accident had actually been partially his fault for working her so hard? He vowed to himself to make sure she got more rest. 

Seeing her eyes begin to droop, he took the dishes inside to wash later and came out to find her asleep on the lounge chair.

“Nope, you can’t sleep in the chair,” he said, brushing her blond curls out of her eyes gently, waking her. 

She opened her eyes slowly, and sleepily smiled at him. Her baby blue eyes were soft and her whole body relaxed. He had to harden his heart against it and avoid thinking about how lovely it had been waking up to that sight in New York and Rio de Janiero. 

All business, he escorted her to her room and tucked her in bed. She immediately curled up and passed out. Her naturally wavy blond hair billowed out on the pillow behind her, and he decided that he liked the blond just as much as her natural brunette hair. She’d been a brunette when he’d met her in New York, and they were dating two years ago. Not allowing himself to linger, he tiptoed from the room and rummaged around in the linen closet at the end of the hallway and tossed a big cotton blanket on the couch. After doing the dishes, he wrapped himself up in it and laid down. Fluffing a couch pillow, he fell asleep quickly also, tired out from a week of hard rehearsals and worry. 

*******************************

Hours later in the dead of night, some small undefinable sound woke him from sleep. Briefly disoriented, he jolted awake when he realized he was asleep on Ginger’s couch. Upon remembering where he was, he remembered why he was there. He should probably check on her. Throwing aside the light blanket, he padded down the hallway quietly, rubbing his arms against the chill. 

He peeked into her room, expecting to find her asleep, but her bed was empty. Her big bedroom window was wide open, the gentle spring breeze fluttering the wispy curtains, which explained why it was so cold in the house. Panic flooded his chest. A half dozen outrageous scenarios ran through his mind, causing his heart to slam in his chest and his breath to come in panicked gasps. What if she sleepwalked? What if she’d been kidnapped? He ran to the window and looked outside onto the rosebushes under her window. Nothing looked out of place. 

He hurried through the house, ducking into the kitchen to see if she’d wandered in to get something to eat, and peeked into the dining room; maybe she’d gone there to eat it. Nothing. He was about to crash out onto the patio and search the back yard when he heard the sound of water splashing in the pool. A vision of her drowning while he slept on the couch unaware ripped through his mind. Frantically trying to figure out the latch on the door, his hand on the handle, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight. 

Ginger was in the pool and she was fine. In fact, she was slowly swimming laps. In perfect form, she leisurely lifted her arms left and right and kicked. Her strong legs propelled her through the warm water and that’s when Fred realized that she was absolutely naked. He stood rooted to the spot and watched, mesmerized.

The moonlight filtering through the overhead oak trees bathed her perfect dancer’s body as she slid through the water effortlessly. With an economy of motion, she flipped at the end of the pool, turning underwater, and needling halfway to the middle. Breaking the surface, she continued her slow crawl, taking the laps easily. Her technique was perfect. He was reminded again that she was an incredible athlete, and that dancing was only one of her talents. As she swam, her naked form like a marble statue come to life, a hundred images of her flooded through his mind. He couldn’t help remembering how it was to be wrapped in her arms when they made love, how her silken skin burned hot under his hands, how she felt when he moved inside her and the noises she made. The memories of teaching her to dance until three in the morning at the Casino in Manhattan and of seductive dancing in the night streets of Rio during a Carnivale, tortured him. He shook his head, desperate to rid himself of the desire that inflamed him. He moved back from the window and slunk behind the long curtains, mostly hidden from her sight in case she looked up.

He groaned and ran his hands through his thinning hair. He absolutely could not go out there and join her, even to check on her. He knew what could happen if he did. He bit his lip hard. He visualized his feet rooted into the ground, and simply refused to allow his feet to walk out there. It was bad enough that he was watching her swim naked. He could not, would not let the circumstances get away from him like it had in Rio. He twisted his wedding ring on his finger, trying to remember that he was promised to another. He focused instead on the aesthetic of her body moving through the water, and how it might turn into dance moves. His mind naturally translated everything into dance. Focusing hard, he was able to see the beauty in her form without his emotions clouding the sight, eventually. It took a while, but fortunately she kept swimming. Breathe in, breathe out. 

When she finally climbed out up the pool steps, he felt as if he was watching Aphrodite step out of her clam shell, though Ginger was more svelte and muscular than the classical painting by Botticelli. Her perfect hourglass figure glimmered in the moonlight as she wrung the pool water from her curly blond hair and slicked it off of her body. His eyes followed her, unable to look away, as she’d dried off and put her pajamas back on. She surprised him then by settling into the hammock strung between the oak trees by the pool. 

This early in June, it was not yet very warm at night. A cool ocean breeze had picked up. Fred immediately started to worry that she might catch cold. He did not want her to get chilled on top of everything else. Concern overrode his desire. He composed himself until he was once again the master of his rebellious body. Deciding that this was the right time to show himself, he took a deep breath and summoned all of his acting ability. 

He exited the backdoor in a rush, and looked around, as if in a panic. Spying her in the hammock, he strode over. 

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, hands on his hips. “I woke up and you were nowhere to be found! I was frantic!”

She startled and nearly fell out of the hammock as it swung around alarmingly. She righted herself. 

“God dammit, Fred!” She hissed, “You scared the daylights out of me!”

Fred’s sudden appearance had frightened her badly. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t expect to be surprised in the privacy of her own back yard. The eight foot high walls with a wrought iron topping around the plot ensured that. He had been sound asleep on the couch when she’d crept out for a midnight swim after a few hours of sleep. She’d always had trouble sleeping, and now her neck muscles and back were sore, and her headache had returned. She had hoped swimming would loosen everything up enough so that she could sleep. 

“I’m sorry!” he said sincerely, wringing his hands, his hazel eyes soft with worry and concern.

His heart shaped head, with his pointy nose and jug ears warmed her heart. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, yet she found him irresistible. And exasperating at times. 

“Well, you might as well make yourself useful. I can’t sleep.” She wiggled around on the hammock and gestured him over, pain streaking down her neck as she did so. She winced. “Will you give me that massage you started earlier?”

Fred warily eyed the hammock. Slinging a leg behind her, he maneuvered in, with much swaying and cursing and nearly dumping them both on the ground, which didn’t help her aching back at all. Ginger laughed quietly and finally they were settled, Fred behind her and Ginger between his legs. In other circumstances, she would find this a nice position to be in but tonight she really was uncomfortable and desperately needed a massage to loosen the strained muscles and ligaments. 

His fingers dug into her neck, finding each knot, and expertly rolling his thumb over them until they were worked out. She turned her neck this way and that, directing him to another spot until finally she felt loose and relaxed. His hands stilled and found their way to her waist. He leaned into her back and settled his head on her shoulder.

“I think I’m gonna sleep out here, Fred,” she said finally, enjoying his warmth too much. 

He bit his lip and scowled. “Are you sure it’s safe?” 

“Of course. I do it all the time.” She hesitated. Maybe she did need a blanket against the chill. “Can you get me a blanket, though?”

He obediently slid off the hammock much more gracefully than he’d gotten onto it. In a moment he returned with a huge blanket.

He surprised her by scooting in behind her and within seconds, they were both wrapped in the blanket and gently rocked between the two oak trees. At least this way, he could ensure that she didn't wander or do anything more reckless in her concussed condition. She snuggled down into his arms, marveling at how perfectly they fit together and deciding to worry about it tomorrow. She heard his deep sigh and felt his body relax underneath her as they got comfortable. 

“Maybe I should go back to the couch, Ginge,” Fred asked without any enthusiasm, after a while. A huge yawn nearly cracked his face in half. His eyes began closing of their own accord.

“Don’t go. You’re nice and warm.”

There was no answer from Fred. He was already asleep. Burrowing down into his warmth and inhaling his familiar scent, she drifted off, too.


	2. The Case of the Mysterious Orange Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When actions have consequences, even Los Angeles in spring can feel like hell frozen over.

Lew frowned at the car in the driveway. The sleek black Rolls Royce did not belong to Ginger’s mother or cousin, and it didn’t look familiar. He was pretty sure that he didn’t know anyone who drove such an expensive car. He did know, however, that Lela and Phyllis were out of town for the weekend, which is why he had planned on surprising Ginger and waking her up with some special treats. He grabbed the extra key from under the flowerpot where she always hid it, and let himself in. He set the bag of donuts on the counter. Rummaging under the sink for a flower vase, he took a moment to arrange the bright spring flowers and added water. He set them on the dining room table, then quietly whistled a jaunty tune as he strode down the hallway to her room.

Finding the bed empty, he was puzzled. He peeked into Phyllis’ neat room and Lela’s organized room and still no Ginger. Maybe she’d gone for a pre-dawn walk to see the sun rise in a little bit. She frequently took long walks up into the Hollywood Hills. Maybe she’d gotten that puppy that she was always dreaming about. He placed the orange juice in the refrigerator and was about to leave when he glanced out the window into the back yard. Seeing the blanket trailing down out of the hammock, he grinned. She must have taken a midnight swim again and slept outside. She liked to sleep outside. Something about the cold air on her face and being all warm and comfortable inside the bedding pleased her enormously. He didn’t mind it either, especially when he got to snuggle in with her. Maybe he’d flip her out of the hammock and start the day with a play fight, followed by hot sex, a sunrise dip in the pool and breakfast. It sounded like a great plan.

He tiptoed out to the pool side, pleased as punch but stopped abruptly. To his horror, she was not alone. 

He knew who Fred was; he’d met him twice now at the studio, and Ginger mentioned him often. She reassured him all the time that they weren’t an issue, that he was just her dancing partner. However, this sleeping together certainly looked like an issue. She was snuggled peacefully under his arm, her head on his chest rising slowly with his breathing. They looked far too comfortable for people who were just co-workers.

Lew stepped back several paces and tried to control his breathing, balling his fists and pressing them against his eyes until he saw light. Cold rage flowed through his veins. The audacity of it infuriated him. He had four inches and a good fifty pounds on Fred, and he really wanted to pummel his face right now. If he confronted them now, he’d hurt him. He turned his back on the sleeping pair and walked back inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He decided he didn’t want them to know that he had been there. He suspected that if he confronted them right now, Ginger would choose to defend Fred, and he risked losing her entirely. 

Swinging by the kitchen, he noticed the two sets of dishes in the drainer. Fred had apparently been here for dinner, too. In frustration, he grabbed his bag of donuts and left quietly, locking the front door behind him. 

He got into his car, slammed the door shut and banged his head on the steering wheel. He was enraged with the idea of his girl stepping out with another man, even a skinny, goofy looking guy like Fred. Ginger had told him about their past relationship and continually reassured him that there was nothing between them anymore. While they weren’t exclusive – yet – he had thought that was where they were heading. He hoped that they were heading that way. They’d been dating for nearly a year now, and things had been going swimmingly well, until Fred had showed up. Why was this even an issue? Fred was married, with some wealthy, trophy wife, rumor had it. 

Why bother Ginger again, even if they had to work together now? Surely Mr. Twinkle-toes had better things to do than bother his co-star while at work. Maybe he should take the matter up with the studio and make sure Fred wasn’t taking advantage of the girls on his movie. It had been known to happen. He was pretty sure something like that had already happened to Ginger, too, though she’d vehemently denied it and declared the discussion forbidden. Executives taking advantage of girls working their way up the ladder in the cutthroat Hollywood business was a common story and was a disturbing background buzz on any movie set. He’d have to think about it later when he wasn’t so angry. After all, Fred was becoming a powerful man at RKO, was personal friends with the heads of the studio, and Lew didn’t want to jeopardize Ginger’s standing there. 

The image of Ginger in Fred’s arms flashed into his mind again. Rage bubbled in his belly. By the looks of things, it was getting crowded in this relationship. He started the engine and roared out of the driveway.

*************************

The slam of a car door somewhere nearby awoke Fred with a jolt. His eyes flew open and for a disoriented second, he had no idea where he was. It certainly wasn’t his bedroom. With his brain a bit foggy, he looked down at the woman in his arms and it wasn’t his wife, either. Full consciousness flowed back into his sleepy brain and it registered that the blond sleeping on his chest was Ginger and that he was still at her house asleep in the hammock. He maneuvered around until he was able to get a good look at his watch – 7:09am. He dropped his head back and blinked to get the sleep out of his eyes.  


Ginger began to stir from where she curled against him. Her arm around his waist pulled him closer, and she buried down under the covers. The roar of a car engine impinged on her consciousness.  


“Hey, Ginge,” he whispered, running his hands through her hair, and flipping back the blanket. Cold morning air flowed over them both and he shivered. 

She stirred sleepily, then sat up abruptly. Leaving Fred’s warm arms caused goosebumps to erupt on her arms immediately and she rubbed them vigorously.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, causing the hammock to swing wildly. 

Fred gripped it for dear life, not wanting to get dumped on the ground first thing in the morning. “I think it’s time to get up and moving.”

“What time is it?” She yawned and stretched. Fred tried not to watch, and failed, as the rising sun brought out the red highlights in her strawberry blond hair and illuminated her delicate features. Her legs moved against his under the covers, stretching, and the hammock swung precariously again. Carefully, she detangled herself from the blanket and her dance partner and climbed out into the brisk morning air. Fred followed her quickly, gathering up the blanket from where it wanted to drag on the lawn.

“It’s a little after seven,” he answered and closed the backdoor behind them. He tossed the rolled up blanket on the couch. The relative warmth of the house flowed over him and he grabbed his jacket from where he had tossed it last night. Shrugging into the coat, reveling in its warmth, he said, “I should be getting home.”

Ginger ran a cup under the tap and drank down a glass of cold water. That seemed to banish some of the sleepiness, and she contemplated Fred for a moment. Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight sneaking in through the kitchen windows.

“Thanks for taking care of me last night, Freddie,” she said gratefully.

She leaned back against the sink countertop; her arms stretched on either side. In her thin, pink silk pajamas and wild bedhead hair, she looked much younger than she actually was and for a moment she looked just like Fred remembered her when they’d been together in New York. 

“Let me see?” he stepped closer and examined the bump on her forehead. It certainly looked better today. He looked deep into her eyes, meaning to see if her pupils were the same size or if they were different, meaning her concussion lingered. Instead, he got lost in their amazing dark blue streaked with light blue hues and forgot all about his intentions.

He stepped in to kiss her and stopped himself at the last moment. Ginger didn’t move away and sighed unhappily when he kissed her on the forehead instead. Turning quickly, he strode through the hallway, grabbed his keys and tossed, “You’re welcome. See you at work!” over his shoulder. He dashed out the door and Ginger leaned heavily against the sink as the roar of the Rolls engine grumbled to life and the sound receded in the distance.

****************************************

Four year old Peter tore around the corner and nearly collided with Fred as he walked in the front door. Reacting quickly, he snatched the child up and hoisted him over his shoulder, holding him tightly with one arm and tossed his keys into the dish on the entryway table. Peter’s delighted giggles echoed through the entry hallway. He walked with the struggling, wriggly child into the kitchen, where Phyllis sat nursing a coffee and reading the newspaper. She looked at Fred over the top of the paper as he dropped the boy onto his feet and the child scampered away on a child’s mission of fun. Phyllis' expression was unreadable. 

“Good morning,” Fred said, picking up another section of the paper and hiding his anxiety by fiddling with it unnecessarily, shaking it out flat. Another glance at Phyllis showed him that his wife was still giving him the same inscrutable look, her brown eyes shrewd and calculating.

“Good morning,” she said finally, eyes turning to her the page she had propped in front of her. “Nice of you to make it home this morning.”

He crushed down the urge to fidget in his seat. The temperature in the kitchen breakfast nook was approximately one degree above freezing, and he began to get a bad feeling about this.

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” 

She folded down the paper and set it precisely on the tabletop. Leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, she raised her pencil-thin brown eyebrows at him and sipped her coffee. Her white knuckle grip on the mug betrayed her agitation and her hand shook noticeably.

Fred started to sweat.

After a moment or two, she tossed Fred’s wallet onto the tabletop between them. It rolled to a stop and Fred picked it up curiously.

“Oh, did I leave it here?”

"Oh, no, Fred, you didn't."

Fred could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a dozen notches. He wasn’t sure where this was going, exactly, but he it wasn’t going anywhere good. 

“Hermes said that you’d left it in his car at lunch yesterday and he hadn’t noticed it until he was driving home after rehearsal. He went back to the studio to give it to you, but you were nowhere to be found, so he dropped it off for you here.”

Now Fred was really sweating, his cover blown. He looked down at the wallet in his hands and turned it over and over, wondering what exactly to say. Phyllis knew that he hadn’t gone to Hermes house last night. The guilt was already tearing him up inside. A dozen lies ran through his mind, but he’d already been caught in the big one and this was not how he wanted to live his life. Ultimately, he decided to tell her the truth. 

He sighed heavily and tucked the wallet into his back pocket. He looked her straight in the eyes.

“First of all, nothing happened.” He gestured with his hands, and then crossed his arms over his chest, too. 

Phyllis’ arms crossed tighter in front of her, and heartsick disappointment oozed from every pore. She could guess where this was going. Fred kicked at the table leg out of sight, and it shook rhythmically each time. She frowned at him when the coffee in her cup sloshed over, and he stopped.

“Ginger got into a car accident yesterday and I drove her home. The doctor said she couldn’t be alone, and Lela was out of town.” Fred said it quickly, as if that would make it more palatable. “And then… I fell asleep. On the couch. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened… except that you called to tell me you were staying at Hermes’ house when you weren’t.”

Bile rose in the back of Fred’s throat. This was awful. The hurt in Phyllis’ eyes was horrible to see and it was all his fault. However, she wasn’t done yet. 

“Fred, I’m not stupid. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday,” she began, her voice choked up. She looked out the breakfast nook window at the view of the flowers in their front yard and settled. “All the time we dated in New York; her ghost was there in the background. Every time we went out to eat, I wondered if you’d taken her there first. Every time we went to a movie, I wondered if you’d sat there in the dark with her first. Every time we kissed, I wondered if you were remembering her.” 

Fred had nothing to say. A lot of what she said was true, and his eyes betrayed him. She plowed onward, determined at least to have her say, if not her satisfaction.

“You pursued me for two years, Fred, and I wondered why. When you asked me to marry you, I wondered why. Why you hadn’t married her instead.”

Fred winced as if stabbed. The tightness in his chest threatened to strangle him, and he felt lightheaded. Looking up at her again, he realized that her question wasn’t just rhetorical, and she expected an answer.

“Because she would have told me no, Phyl,” he said, feeling the cruel truth to that statement in his gut. He had to pause and breathe heavily. His hands were shaking, and the lightheadedness grew worse. He wasn’t sure if he was losing it because of that truth, Phyllis’ upset or getting caught in his lie. He scooted back his chair and put his head on the table, trying to regain his composure. After a few minutes, he looked up again and found her eyes still glued on him.

“I suppose… it could be partially true that I married you to forget about her. But… I love you, too, Phyl, you’re a wonderful girl. I absolutely didn’t expect to run into her ever again, much less have to work with her. I’m in a bind and I’m not handling it well. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. It was true. He had no idea how to handle the situation and make everyone happy. Someone was going to get hurt and he loved both of them. When he was with Phyllis, it was all about her. And when he was with Ginger, it was all about her. He felt like a dual personality, split into two distinct parts. His heart ripped in two, and there were no winners here.

“I’m sorry is not going to cut it, Fred,” she said, finally standing up. With a sob into a handkerchief, she pushed his hands away as he reached for her and walked away with her head held high.  


Fred stayed at the breakfast nook for a long time, looking out at his flowers and wondering how to fix it all.

**************************************

Later that afternoon, Ginger rummaged around in the refrigerator for something to eat. As she pawed through the food choices, she noticed the glass bottle of orange juice. She paused. She didn’t remember buying any orange juice the last time she was at the store, nor did juice usually come in this type of bottle. There was no label on it, and the pulp separated from the clear juice distinctly. It looked fresh squeezed. Lots of people had citrus fruit trees in the yards and made their own. It was pretty common and this looked just like that. She grabbed a package of English muffins and the juice. Pouring herself a glass after shaking it well, she continued to mull it over. Oh, well. She must not be remembering correctly. After all, she was recovering from a mild concussion after all. She took her plate of breakfast and juice to the dining room.

It wasn’t until she entered and found the artfully displayed vase of flowers on the table that the awful truth began to come to her. Since she had been home all day, whomever had delivered the flowers and juice had to have arrived when she was sleeping, early this morning because she KNEW that it wasn’t there last night when she and Fred had made scrambled eggs and toast. With a sinking feeling, she knew that the only person who could have brought her these items was Lew. 

He knew where the key was, and he knew her mother and cousin were out of town.

Lew must have come by while she slept. While she slept with Fred in the hammock.

With trembling fingers, she dialed his telephone number. The line rang and rang. No one picked up.


	3. Needle In A Haystack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Ginger's birthday on the set of "The Gay Divorcee" and Fred celebrates it well after he gets over a case of nerves.

The dancers filed onto the stage, singly and in pairs and small social groups. Dozens of them walked past Fred into the soundstage, in their rehearsal outfits ready to learn the Continental dance, smiling at him and saying hello. It was the first big production that Fred had ever choreographed for film and he was scared spitless. 

It didn’t help at all that Lew had accompanied Ginger to the set today.

Technically Ginger didn’t need to be there, since she wasn’t in the chorus line portion of the dances, but she had mentioned yesterday that she’d be here to offer emotional support. Fred appreciated the gesture. What they hadn’t counted on was the fact that her boyfriend would accompany her. Ginger had told Fred that Lew had been in the house and discovered them sleeping together in the hammock and it had eventually resulted in a huge fight, with shouted accusations and raging emotions. Apparently, Lew was reluctant to let Ginger out of his sight now.

Now, Lew was here on Fred’s stage and there was nothing he could do about it without causing a scene. He was sitting in Ginger’s directors’ chair, smiling, and laughing with Sandrich and obviously having a grand time making Fred nervous. Ginger looked on edge, too. She was trying to hide it, but her smile was strained and her whole posture rigid. She leaned on the back of her own chair, unable to sit on her own stage, putting herself literally between the two men. 

Ginger wasn’t the only other cast member who was here today to see Fred work. Eric Blore, who had worked with Fred and Ginger on “Flying Down to Rio” was here, too. They had become friends during the filming of “Rio”, and he had come to greatly admire Fred’s dancing skills. The British actor was a talented man, able to manage comedy and drama, and had a sharp wit and a ready smile. He would be acting the role of a butler on their film, getting a lot of the choice comedic dialog. Today, he sidled up to Fred and asked him to tell him what was happening on the stage.

Fred was very willing to be distracted by the curious actor. He ran through the whole sequence quickly, and Eric nodded understandingly. When Ginger looked over at them conversing, he gave her a conspiratorial wink.

With a deep breath, Fred strode out to the dance company and took command of the stage. Ginger was surprised at the change that came over him. He had an understanding of the movements of the dancers that was startling, seeing patterns and designs that she hadn’t considered. Her eyes followed Fred everywhere he went as he snapped out instructions and moved dancers around to his satisfaction, without hesitation or indecision. She had worked with him as a dance director for a day on Broadway, the day they had met. Fred had been called in by the producers of that show to give some advice on streamlining the dances and give Ginger a dance lesson. She had seen him critique the show and fix it easily, but that had been a dozen people, not nearly a hundred like this. It was fascinating to watch the master in his domain. 

Eric wasn’t the only one who watched Ginger watching Fred. Lew narrowed his eyes and began to rise from his chair when Hermes moved to stand next to her, protectively, whether he knew it or not. Her attention was interrupted, and she animatedly chatted with the dance assistant, talking shop. Lew settled back into his chair and resumed talking with Sandrich and the Script Supervisor, only occasionally glancing back at his girlfriend. Eric observed this byplay, this dance behind the scenes of the dance, and wondered if these dancers were aware of the parts they played. He had wondered about Fred and Ginger on “Rio”, as had most of the cast, but now, seeing them together, his suspicions were confirmed. He liked these kids. And he most definitely did not like the way Lew interacted with Ginger, like he owned her, even though he had only seen them together for a few minutes. He vowed to himself to do what he could, conventions, laws and institutions be damned, if that was what was needed. Actors were passionate, spirited personalities who needed a bit of direction now and then. Maybe Ginger reminded him of his own daughter, but she made him feel very protective. Not that he would encourage his daughter in infidelity, but true love was undeniable and he recognized it here. Maybe he was just an old romantic, himself. If he could assist, he was up to the task.

************************************

A couple of weeks later, Fred sat uneasily in his directors-style chair and shook his foot nervously. He watched from behind the camera as the huge Busby-Berkeley type dance began to film and his choreography came to life. Sandrich didn’t film the sequence as Fred would have done it, but it was good enough. For a first effort, Fred felt okay about his creation, though there was a lot of room for improvement. He’d have to talk to Pando Berman, head of production, and make sure that his next contract included a phrase that gave him complete control over how the dance numbers were filmed. If this picture did well, he could probably have that added. He fervently hoped it would go well, and superstitiously said a prayer to Terpsichore, the muse of dance to the old Greeks. He wasn’t a religious man, but when it came to something like this, it didn’t pay to take chances.

************************************

By early evening on the second day of shooting, the big scenes were nearly half done, and would probably carry over into tomorrow morning. His stomach felt like it had been run over by a tractor. He was so jumpy that the Production Assistants were afraid to come anywhere near him. Sandrich tried to tell him that the choreography was going great, but nothing he or anyone else said seemed to make a dent in Fred’s anxiety. He walked around the edges of the set, nervously picking at his lips, and kicking at nothing on the floor and not knowing what to do with his hands, sticking them in his pockets and then out and back again, repeatedly. 

Hermes watched his friend stress out and didn’t know how to help him. Things were going swimmingly well, and he was going to give himself an ulcer. When Ginger walked on to the sound stage between takes unannounced, Hermes rushed to her and grabbed her up in a bear hug.

“Wow, what was that for?” she asked, surprised. He dropped her back onto her feet and beamed at her.

“Just happy to see you!” he said, “But… want to do us all a favor?”

Immediately, she was suspicious. She had come to the lot today for a wardrobe fitting and wasn’t required on set. Out of courtesy, she had dropped in to see how the big dance scenes were going and she hadn’t planned on being here for very long. She didn’t usually get a whole lot of days off of work, and she wanted to take advantage of it to rest up for her own dance tomorrow. Lew was waiting for her telephone call, and they had plans for the afternoon.

“Okay?” she answered cautiously, “What’s the favor?”

“Just take Fred away. Anywhere. To lunch, for a walk, whatever. He’s a wreck, Mark has it all handled – that’s why he’s the director – and Fred is making everyone nervous.”

That didn’t surprise her. Fred was a master worrier and unease tended to make him a martinet.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you!” Hermes gave her a peck on the cheek, “Bless you.” He walked back to Sandrich’s elbow and watched the rehearsal unfold on the monitors around the director.

Her eyes sought out Fred. She found him stalking along the edge of the set, intently following the dancers as they ran through a last rehearsal of the section of the dance they were filming in an hour. As she watched, he squatted down, his hand on his chin, watching their feet and frowning mightily.

She came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into his neck muscles. They were hard and knotted and he leaned back into her massage. She could tell he was smiling without even seeing his face. 

“Hey, old man, are you scaring the kids?”

“What? No!” He looked over his shoulder and up at her, “I’m not sure Sandrich knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t have filmed it that way.”

“It’s HIS movie, Fred, we just act here.” She ruffled his hair and then straightened it when he frowned, combing it out with her fingers. 

He stood up and straightened his shirt and she slipped her hand into his. Just through that simple contact, she could feel him settling. Inwardly, she reveled in the feeling that she could have this much effect on him, just by some simple, innocent contact.

“Want to take a walk?” she asked, “My new dress is ready for the dance tomorrow and I’m dying to see it.”

He considered. He supposed it was true that Mark Sandrich had things under control here and that Hermes was in the wings if anything was needed. He could probably sneak away for an hour or so. He also didn’t want to deny Ginger anything that she asked of him, since they were both trying to be on their best behavior and being very courteous to one another. She hadn’t exactly been trying to avoid him, since they still had dance rehearsals in the morning for a few hours each day except for today, but they made a point to separate immediately afterwards and not linger on the stage together. Walking around the lot meant other people; that should be innocent enough.

“Sure, let’s go.”

As they walked off the stage together hand in hand, Hermes gave her a discrete thumbs up gesture. He had everything under control here. She was amazed at how he had gained confidence in his abilities since Fred had taken him on as his second. Even Sandrich gave her a grateful look. That was surprising, since he’d shown a distinct preference for Fred’s company over hers. He was in the process of calling to take the dances from the top once again as they exited the stage.

*****************************************

The wardrobe building at RKO was one of Ginger’s favorite places on the lot. It smelled of crisp fabrics and warm furs, hot and oily sewing machines and a distinctive musty kind of smell that reminded her somehow of her grandmother’s attic. Bolts of fabric were stacked in organized rows all along one wall, floor to ceiling, in a rainbow of colors and patterns and textures, next to long tables covered with measuring tapes, scissors, thread spools and pin cushions. Drawers and bins full of buttons, sequins, and other notions filled another corner entirely. She would have liked to run her hands along the bolts, but it wasn’t allowed, lest hand oils damage the fabrics. She had already made that error and been taken to task. Even lead actresses were not immune to the rules of the domain of Walter Plunkett, the head of the RKO Wardrobe Department. The click, click, click of a pair of heels coming towards her rapidly was her warning that she and Fred were not alone in the cavernous room.

“Ginger! How lovely of you to make it today!” said Marie Ree, the Head Cutter-Fitter, “And hello to you, Fred! What a pleasant surprise.”

It was Marie’s job take the designer’s costume sketch, find fabric selections, and make the actual patterns. She and Ginger had already perused the rows and rows of fabric bolts and had chosen a white silk fabric for the main portion of the dress and a contrasting midnight blue for the swirly part, with sleeves of dyed ostrich feathers. Today would be Ginger’s first time actually wearing the dress. 

Marie and an assistant led them to the back corner of the building to the dressing rooms and staging area. Mannequin dress forms with clothing in various stages littered the edges of the stage, which was a six inch high ten by ten area where the clothing could be worn by the model and the designer could observe and make notes. Several screens surrounded the area, with clothing racks stretching off into the distance. Fred found a place in the corner to hop up onto a cutting table and sit, dangling his legs over the side and trying to be discretely out of the way. With a rattle, the celebrated head of the RKO Wardrobe Department, Walter Pluknett, emerged from behind a screen. In his arms was a draped pile of white and blue fabric. 

Ginger squealed with glee and rushed over to the distinguished looking gentleman cradling the dress. The huge smile on his face showed his delight in Ginger’s approval. She ran her fingers lightly over the fabric and touched the fluff of ostrich feathers on the shoulders gently. Fred thought that the dress paled in comparison to her delight.

“Would you like to put it on now, Miss Rogers?” Walter asked formally. 

Ginger couldn’t move fast enough. She whipped off her sweater top and dropped her slacks on the floor faster than Fred had ever seen that happen, and he’d seen it happen a few times over the last three years. When she undid her bra and let that fall, too, he felt his jaw hit the floor, also. He knew she wasn’t much fussed by nudity. However, he was shocked that she was so uninhibited that she was nearly nude in front of three other people, apparently without a second thought. Marie glanced over at Fred, and he snapped his mouth shut. 

“Did you want some privacy, Miss Rogers?” she asked. Fred though it was rather after the fact and the horse had already left the stable.

“For what?” Ginger replied, already skipping towards the dress Walter held and clapping her hands.

Marie jerked her head in Fred’s direction. 

“Oh, him?” Ginger held up her arms so Walter could dress her. “Don’t worry about Fred.”

All three wardrobe people looked over at Fred. He felt like he’d suddenly been exposed in their eyes, maybe even more so than Ginger was exposed right now. He felt the red creep up his cheeks. He pulled the polite mask over his features and silently dared them to comment on her nonchalant consent. While he was flattered by Ginger’s acceptance of his presence, he worried about what the others thought of her comfortably stripping in front of her dance partner. His attention was split between what they might think of him and of her distractingly nude form, dressed only in a pair of lacy panties.  


Fortunately, it was only a few seconds before she was sheathed in the shimmery silk dress and the assistant, Claire, was zipping up the short back zipper and their attention switched back to the dress. Ginger gently tugged it down into place. Walter moved her around and pinched a few inches here and there. He adjusted the crisscrossed lattice front with such an utter disregard for her body that Fred was surprised again. Then again, the man was clearly thought of her as a model wearing his clothing and his only interest was in the fit of the dress. He then asked Ginger to stand still while he whipped out a needle and thread and stitched something a bit tighter, mumbling about how she’d lost some weight since the first rough fitting two weeks ago. He got down onto his hands and knees on the floor and observed the hem, nodding his satisfaction. Ginger obediently turned in place at his directions. 

Fred also nodded his satisfaction. The dress was form-fitting to her hips, essentially a white satin sheath, but it flared at the bottom with a swirl of midnight blue edging. Clearly the hem of the dress held weights sewn into the bottom, so it would stay suspended in the air when twirled. Fred would have to watch out for that; he didn’t like getting hit with the weights. It would be a lovely dress to dance in, and she looked fantastic in it.

Walter and Marie stepped back from where they fussed over Ginger. The utterly delighted grin on her face matched the satisfied smiles of the wardrobe team. She spun in place on the stage and the hem flared out, exposing the blue flaming hemline and her perfect dancers’ legs. Coming to a stop, she gestured Fred to come to her. 

He did so and bowed to her, which provoked a laugh from his wardrobe audience, and took her hand. Putting her into a spin, he tapped out a melodic sequence with his feet and Ginger twirled in his hands in perfect rhythm around the small stage. The wardrobe team sighed in contentment and clapped when they were finished with their mini presentation.

“It is a most delightful dress,” Fred agreed as they came to a stop and he kissed Ginger’s hand, just like he had planned for their dance. Her blue eyes snapped with pleasure. 

Walter clapped his hands decisively, and the assistant unzipped Ginger immediately. The dress dropped to the staging floor as she wiggled out of it, leaving Ginger as nearly naked as she had been a few minutes ago, except that now Fred was standing right next to her. He couldn’t help glancing down at her body, and Ginger poked him in the belly to get his attention.

“Eyes up here, sailor,” she whispered as she stepped out of the pile of fabric and gestured for him to move. He hurriedly backed out of their way as the assistant and Marie gathered the dress up and smoothed it out. Fortunately, none of the team seemed to mind him at all as they went about their business and Ginger pulled on her regular clothing. His mission was to blend into the wall at this point and hope to escape as soon as possible. He hadn’t figured on getting to see her naked when she’d asked him to take a walk with her. 

As soon as the compliments and goodbyes were said, Fred slipped outside the building and blinked at the bright sunshine, Ginger a step behind him. She slipped her hand in his again.

He couldn’t help asking, “Is that they way wardrobe fittings always go? Just getting undressed like that in front of others?” 

“Yes, of course,” she replied, “How else would you know if it fits or not?”

He considered. “Well, I just give the Tailor my measurements and they sew it up and it’s delivered to me. I’ve never had to get undressed in front of them.”

Ginger was surprised. She’d never thought of it before. Being dressed was just one of those things that actresses had to get used to. When a dress was designed entirely for you, it was essential that you tried it on and of course, the wardrobe personnel were present. That was their profession.

Fred had never considered that getting naked in front of virtual strangers was part of an actress’ job. As a naturally private man, it horrified him just a little bit. 

Ginger laughed as if reading his thoughts and linked her arm in his tighter. 

“You’re sweet to be concerned. I’ve never had any problems though. Walter has designed several outfits for me, and he runs a tight ship.” She looked over at him, warmed by his concern for her wellbeing. His hazel eyes were on her as they matched steps.

“Fred, you don’t need to worry about me,” she hesitated, and added, “Besides, I’m not yours to worry about anymore.”

The truth hurt, but Fred didn’t let that daunt him. He stroked her fingers where they rested on his arm. 

“Try and stop me, baby,” he grinned at her, hoping it sounded kind and not obsessive, “I will worry about you as long as the sun shines in the sky and the moon follows at night.”

She hugged his arm a little tighter in acknowledgement and turned her attention to the walkway in front of them. “You’re a sap, Fred.”

“Yeah, I know. By the way, you looked good in the dress.”

“Thanks.” 

“You looked good out of the dress, too.”

“Now you’re pushing your luck, buster,” she said in outrage. Her laughter said otherwise, though, as it echoed through the walkways between the sound stages as they returned to the shooting stage, arm in arm.

**************************************

“Hey there, Fred!” Mark called out to him as he entered the stage in his street clothes. Fred felt like he was walking to the gallows. Why on earth he had decided to leave Broadway and tackle Hollywood, he currently had no idea. He swallowed convulsively, fearing that he might throw up, and shook Mark’s hand. 

“Ready to shoot the big dances today?” Mark was chipper and upbeat. So far, the large group dance scenes had gone very well, and he was looking forward to seeing what Fred could do on the dance floor. As far as he was concerned, everything was going well. 

Fred mumbled something polite, but Mark was too busy to notice his complete lack of enthusiasm.

“Oh, hi, Ginger, I didn’t see you come in.” Mark said, looking back at her as she walked up behind them. 

The two exchanged small talk for a moment while Fred tried to control his rebellious nervous stomach. 

“I’m glad you’re both here. We’ve actually had to move your dance to maybe 2pm. We are a bit behind, just finishing up some of the last shots.” He gestured towards them. “I’d say you two have about an hour before you’re needed in wardrobe, and maybe another half hour or hour before we’re ready to go. Why don’t you go get lunch and check in with me when you’re back? I can give you a better update then.”

That was fine with Ginger, as she’d only managed to scavenge some leftovers from her refrigerator, and the idea of getting some real food was appealing. She looked over at Fred to see what he thought of the idea and did a double take. 

Fred looked terrible. He looked ashen and kept swallowing convulsively. Maybe he needed some fresh air or something. 

She poked him with her elbow. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

“I don’t want food,” he replied, looking revolted at the very idea. 

Mark was already engaged in another animated conversation with several cameramen and a boom operator, so Ginger grabbed Fred by the elbow and steered him off the stage. 

“Come on,” she declared, marching him towards the small RKO Commissary, linking her arm with his and basically dragging him along. Ginger ordered two sandwiches and some soup and got it to go. Grabbing the bag, she paid and gave it to Fred to carry. They walked back to Ginger’s dressing room, barely speaking. Ginger was becoming concerned. Not filming the dance sequence was not an option but Fred looked awful. 

She dragged Fred into her dressing room and set out their lunch on her coffee table. Fred collapsed onto the couch and sunk his head into his hands. 

“I should not have left New York,” he moaned. Ginger was reminded that his sister Adele had tagged Fred with the nickname of “Moaning Minnie”. He certainly was living up to it now. 

“Oh nonsense, Fred,” she said crisply, “Stop moaning and eat your lunch.”

She deftly distributed the soup and sandwiches. Fred picked at his. 

“You’re going to be sorry later if you don’t eat a little something now.”

“I’m so nervous I think I’m going to throw up.” He did indeed look a little grey around the gills. 

“What are you nervous about?” she asked, curious. “And do not puke in my dressing room.” 

She didn’t understand why he was so nervous. He was a fabulous dancer and they had rehearsed this dance for weeks now and knew it backwards and forwards. They could probably dance it in their sleep. After all, this wasn’t before a live audience like a Broadway show. If it went sideways, they could always just do another take. He just needed to settle down; it would all work out just fine.

“This is our first big dance together and I want it to be perfect,” he said through his hands. “I want the studio to look at the dailies tonight and say, “yeah this is gonna work” and be happy with their investment in me.”

“Well of course they will, Fred. We’re gonna knock ‘em dead.” 

He held out his hand, practically under her nose. It was trembling. 

“See? It’s all nerves.” He held his head and moaned quietly. 

Ginger regarded him for a moment and an idea came to her. There was one sure-fire way to relax and de-stress and distract him from his nerves, but she wasn’t sure that Fred would go for it. Knowing that she had an hour to persuade him, she went and locked her dressing room door. 

Coming to stand in front of him, she began to unbutton her blouse. She cleared her throat, loudly.

Fred jerked his head up with a startled deer in the headlights look. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, intrigued yet wary. 

“Want to practice a relaxation technique?” she asked, still slowly working on the buttons. Fortunately, her blouse had a lot of them. She wasn’t sure if Fred’s eyes could get any wider and it made her want to giggle. She resolutely tugged her now unbuttoned blouse out of the top of her pants. 

“Ginge, I don’t know what you’re up to but wait, wait, wait.” Fred’s plea would have sounded more genuine if he wasn’t watching the undressing intently. “We can’t. We’ve made it this far without jumping between the sheets. Besides, we only have an hour.”

That made her crack up. “Only an hour. Goddammit, Fred, you’re such a … man.”

He shrugged, forgetting all about his nervous stomach, as she dropped her blouse on the couch. “Seriously, though…what are you doing? I’m not complaining but um, this is dangerous territory here …” 

“Here’s my suggestion, Fred. I want you to get off, right now. Get all those good feelings running through your body to banish all the nervousness.”

Fred’s jaw dropped. He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, his hazel eyes wide. He stuttered, “You wa-wa-want me to do what? Right here? Right now?” 

“Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically, making her breasts bounce a little in her lacy bra. “Surely with me right here as motivation, you can manage it. Then you’ll feel better.” 

She could see the wheels start to turn in his head. Her logic was sound, though it was definitely beyond what they should be doing together. Right now, she simply didn’t care. Her only concern was Fred.  


“Wouldn’t masturbating together be cheating? I’m pretty sure if we are touching one another, it’s as good as sex.”

“But that’s the thing, Fred. You’re not going to touch me. Just yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t know….” She could feel that she was losing him, as he shook his head and buried his face in his hands again. “I see what you’re saying and it’s tempting, but I don’t think I can do it while you’re watching.”

Making sure the window covers were tight over the windows and glancing again at the lock on the door, she unzipped her pants, which made Fred look up again at the sound. She snorted and put her hands on her hips.

“That’s silly, Fred. I’ve seen you orgasm a dozen times while we’ve fucked like bunnies and it didn’t bother you then. I think you taught me this at George’s house, do you remember?” she said as she let her pants drop to the floor and kicked out of them. “I seem to recall you had no problem going down on me in the bathroom at his New Year's party.”

She was getting to him now, she could tell. A blush had started on his chest, working its way up and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the couch. She stepped a good six feet back away from him and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor, too. In the cool room, her nipples were erect and dimpled tightly as she lightly fingered them, twisting them, and flicking them. Then she slipped a hand into her panties and touched herself.

That had the desired effect, as she knew it would. 

Fred cursed and fumbled with the zipper on his pants, pulling it down and wriggling around to get a hand inside, as his erection grew in spite of himself. He grumbled a bit, but he a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth at her outrageous solution to his nervous problem.

She went to the record player and soon the sounds of their rehearsal music flooded her dressing room.

“I think that if we’re going to do this, then we should BOTH do it,” Fred demanded, a mischievous glint in his own eye now, warming up to the game. He gave up trying to be discrete and divested himself of his pants and underwear, tossing them onto the couch next to Ginger’s clothes. He knelt on the floor across from her, bare from the waist down, but still in his button down shirt. He pointed across the room and she obediently returned to her original spot.

The absurdity of him only half naked was enough to push Ginger into a fit of laughter. She slid her panties down to her ankles and stepped out of them. Dropping to her knees, she knelt across from him, six feet and a thousand miles away. With one hand, she twiddled her nipples and with the other, she began stroking her clit, her hand in the soft brown hair between her legs.

“No sound, Fred. Not one. No one can hear us.”

Across from her, Fred nodded agreement, then took his dick in his hand and slowly jacked it, in time with her strokes. Locking eyes, they continued stroking and watching, faster and faster. Ginger inserted a couple of fingers into herself and Fred had to bite his lips to keep from crying out at the sight. With fleshy sounds and hungry looks, they came at nearly the same time. She convulsed around her own fingers, throwing her head back with a quiet moan, and he spurted out onto his fist and the dressing room floor in a silent thrust of ecstasy. 

She caught her breath, and the panting became deep breaths. She whispered, “I can’t believe you agreed to this.” 

“What! This whole thing was your idea,” he whispered back, looking around for a towel to clean up with. 

Ginger leapt up and grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, which she tossed to him, grinning widely. 

“Clean yourself up and let’s eat lunch, Fred. Then we’re gonna dance like nobody is watching.”

*****************************************

An hour later, they met on the dance floor, Ginger in her gorgeous white silk with blue flames dress and Fred in his tuxedo. She twirled in his arms like an angel and he led her like the master dancer that he was. They nailed their solo dance in three takes and completed the gliding dance down the staircase in four.  


As they wrapped for the day, the entire crew was talking about how well it had gone. Only Ginger and Fred knew why.

******************************

On the set of Guy Holden’s Apartment, Fred as Guy sang and tapped, looking dapper in his suit. His distinctive voice filled the soundstage. 

“It’s just like looking for a needle in a haystack,  
searching for a moonbeam in the blue…  
still I’ve got to find you…” 

Ginger watched from the sidelines, tapping her feet quietly in unison to the beat, utterly spellbound as he did his song and dance three times at Mark’s request. His timing was superb, and his rhythm absolutely spot on. He was a genius. The syncopation that he added to the dance with his knocking on the mantlepiece and with his tapping was amazing. She was astonished at the height he got on his jumps, and how easy he made it look. She looked around and hoped that everyone else was appreciating him and his amazing skills as much as she was. She had already been to Wardrobe and was dressed in the dress for the next sequence, and she swished the trail over her arm to keep it off of the floor as she looked around. There seemed like a lot of people on stage today to watch Fred, more than usual, but that was well and good. The more people who appreciated his dancing and cheered him on, the better. 

Hermes certainly had a delighted smile on his face, but as a dancer himself, he would appreciate what he was seeing. Dave Gould, the official dance manager who coordinated the technical end of the dances, also looked pleased. Mark Sandrich looked all business, but not displeased at all, behind the camera, glancing between the monitors and the live action on stage. Various other crew members also looked enchanted, while a few looked bored or simply professional, doing their jobs. Even Pandro Berman, head of the Studio was on set today, which was surprising. Equally surprising was to see that Walter Plunkett and Marie Ree had emerged from the depths of the Wardrobe department

Sandrich squeezed this short song and dance scene into the shooting schedule for today while they prepped the Guy/Mimi (Fred/Ginger) balcony song scene for a bit later, probably after lunch at this rate. The call sheet said they would do the over-the-shoulder shots of the dancers dancing, then the dancing while kissing. Then they’d let the dancing extras go home for the day and finish up with Ginger singing “the Continental Song” to Fred. It should be a light day of filming. She hoped so. She was tired from filming the big dance numbers with Fred yesterday. It had been a very physical day, but one of the best that she could remember, in fact. She was pretty satisfied that her idea of relaxing Fred had worked as well as it had, in addition to being a lot of fun.

“All right folks, that’s it for this scene. Nice job, Fred!” Sandrich announced. The people around the stage area cheered. Fred looked enormously pleased with himself and took a bow. Ginger clapped and cheered the loudest.

“But don’t leave yet! I’ve been notified that we have a birthday today to celebrate!” He pointed at Ginger. “And there’s the birthday girl! Happy birthday, Ginger!” 

Now it was Fred’s turn to clap and cheer the loudest as Ginger blushed and nodded her thanks to everyone. To her delight, everyone on stage began to sing her “Happy Birthday”. The exuberant song shook the rafters above the set. 

To add icing to the cake, so to speak, a huge cake was rolled out on a trolley by the Production Coordinator and everyone cheered. Someone handed her a knife and they all posed for photos, Fred carefully making sure she was centered in the picture while he stood in the background behind her, holding up the train of her dress. It was a tremendous surprise, and it utterly delighted her. She cut cake for everyone before the Coordinator took the knife from her and began serving up the cake as the cast and crew lined up. 

She and Fred grabbed their plates of cake and moved to the side to chat. Happy crew members constantly interrupted them with well wishes for Ginger, but she didn’t mind at all. Pandro, Walter and Marie also came as a group to impart their good wishes, then left in a huddle, back to their domains. Harry Cornbleth, Fred’s stand-in, gave Ginger a hug, as did her own stand-in, Marie Osbourne, before retreating with their cake in hand. Hermes gave her a huge hug and a pretty charm for her bracelet.

“How did they know it was my birthday?” she asked him. She hadn’t told anyone.

“Oh, that was me. I told them,” Fred admitted, “I couldn’t let the day go by unannounced and uncelebrated!”

It was a really kind gesture and Ginger felt like she couldn’t possibly smile wider at her dancing partner, friend and former lover. 

“Oh, and I have a present for you,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows, “but it’s for later.”

Now she was intrigued. The thought made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

*************************

“Later” turned out to be much later, after repeated takes of the balcony scene. Mark made the dancers do eight takes before he was satisfied with the cameras view of the dance floor, and then Fred and Ginger went through the song three times before moving into the suite for the setup of the dancing paper dolls scene. It turned out to be an unexpectedly long day and Ginger was tired. 

She pulled on her street clothes in the small Wardrobe area dressing room on set and sighed in relief. Her own shoes felt great after several days of hard dancing in a row. Usually for rehearsals, she wore low, very comfortable heels, but for shooting, she always switched to much higher heels to add some height to her 5’4”. She sat on the bench and relaxed in the silence and privacy for just a moment, dropping her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

A banging on her door jerked her awake from where she’d drifted off. She jumped to her feet and swung the door open to find her dance partner on the other side. He leaned against the frame, in a light pink short-sleeved shirt and slacks, his hat perched on top of his head precariously. Only Fred could pull off a pink shirt and a burgundy silk scarf as a belt and still be straight and sexy as hell, at least in her eyes.

“Peekaboo,” he said, “Are you ready for your birthday present?”

She was tired, but still game. “Sure!”

Fred was practically dancing with glee. She didn’t know where he got the energy to be so peppy after such a long day – and the end of a long week practically – but his joy was infectious.

To her surprise, he began to sing to her, his eyes twinkling merrily. He tapped on the stage floor, swinging his arms wide and gesturing to her to follow him.

“It’s just like looking for a needle in a haystack, looking for a dew drop in the dew….”

“Oh, no, Fred.”

“Oh, yes, Ginge… you’ve got to find it. It’s a treasure hunt!”

She groaned, but his energy and happiness was contagious. He was such a sweetheart; she didn’t have the heart to deny him anything. She summoned the last of her energy and joined him as they walked through the cavernous sound stage.

“Here’s your first clue.” He handed her a piece of paper. She read it out loud.

“These aren’t socks, but you put them on your feet. They may be red, white, or blue. They come in pair, so… You will find your next clue if you peek in your ___________”.

“Shoes! Obviously,” she was tickled pink that Fred had made this game all for her. Around them, the last stragglers on the crew were saying their goodnights and wishing her one last happy birthday. They waved them out and found they were alone on the set. “So, to my dressing room?”

Fred nodded and away they went. 

Ginger turned out to have a lot of shoes in her dressing room. They had to play “hot and cold” to find the right pair. Digging into a blue pair of rehearsal sandals, she found another note. This one read:

“This thing has lots of numbers, it makes you feel less alone; perhaps you talk to others on it… find the next clue on the ____________”

“Phone!” she looked over at her phone, but she didn’t see anything on it. “Where’s the next closest phone?”

“My room?” Fred suggested.

Like a flash, Ginger was out the door and dashed into Fred’s dressing room next door. Striding to his phone, she picked up the receiver and found the next clue underneath it. It read:

“You’re pretty good at scavenger hunts, what do you think? Maybe you’re good at washing dishes, you should look in the ________”

“Sink?” She was mystified at this one. Did it mean a bathroom sink or a kitchen sink? She looked in his bathroom sink, but it was empty. The nearest kitchen type sink was in the Craft Service area back on the sound stage. When she looked at Fred for direction, he merely raised his arms in an “I don’t know” gesture and smiled mysteriously, so she walked to Craft Service. She dug around for a bit and was about to give up when she found the paper clue taped above the sink, folded over with her name on it. Snatching it down, she read:

“Ready to give up? Or do you want more? Uh oh, I think someone is knocking, you should look on your __________”

“Door!” Leaving the sound stage, they returned to their dressing rooms in the hallway. Not finding anything on Fred’s door, she walked further down to hers. Sure enough, there was a note taped to it. It read:

“Food makes you a little sleepy, once you have been fed. This item has blankets and pillows, look for the next clue on the _______”

“Bed!” She walked inside her own dressing room but saw nothing on top of her bed. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look. “Fred, you didn’t do this all just to get me into bed, did you?”

“No, though I like that idea,” Fred put up his hands and shook his head. “You’re not being very observant, though.” 

She obediently looked at the bed more, flipping back the covers, then snatched up the pillow. Under it was a tiny box. She looked at him uncertainly and sat down, cradling the small box in her hands. He sat down next to her.

“Well, you found it! Now open it.” 

She did, her hands shaking. Inside were two earrings – utterly gorgeous earrings. They were each a 1.5 carat diamond surrounded by tiny rubies set in white gold in an Art Deco style. Ruby was her birthstone, for July. Fred always remembered little things like that. Ginger was stunned.  


Fred was thrilled. It wasn’t often that he rendered her speechless. 

“Oh my god, Fred, I can’t accept this!” she said, extremely flustered. This earring set must have cost a fortune, at least half of the price of her car. 

“Oh, yes you will!” he insisted. “I can’t return it. All sales final.”

She doubted that was true but still hesitated. 

“Nothing is too good for you, Ginge.”

They were far too fancy to wear with her street clothes, a simple short sleeve sweater and slacks, but she took out her normal earrings with slightly shaky fingers and put on the gift pair. 

“Let me see?”

She nodded, and he gently lifted the hair off her neck to get a good look at either side. 

With his hands on either side of her face, it was easy to lean in. As their lips touched lightly, she gasped, and her mouth opened under his. That was all the encouragement Fred needed to move in, his tongue questing entry, and she opened to him. He felt her hands wrap around his back and pull him closer. For a long moment, they lingered, utterly content to be together like this. Finally, Fred pulled back and kissed her on the forehead, too, resting with his lips against her soft skin and just breathing in her warm scent, his huge hands still cradling her face. Eventually, her happy sigh brought him back to reality. 

If they didn’t leave now, they wouldn’t be leaving at all.

With a resigned huff, he came to his feet and pulled her up after him. She gathered her gifts and her light sweater, and they walked out to their cars in the warm July night hand in hand.  


“Happy birthday, Ginge,” Fred smiled at her over the top of his car. She smiled back over the top of hers, parked beside him. 

“Thanks, Fred.” 

She laughed as he got into his car whistling “Needle in a Haystack.”


	4. Mountains and Molehills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the movie nears it's finale, our two dancers struggle to find a balance that they can live with.

Fred was sitting in his director’s style chair waiting for the next setup when Ginger walked on to the stage. He grimaced when he saw the figure behind her, assuming it was Lew again, but hid it by slurping a bit of the hot coffee he was nursing. He snorted in private amusement as every male eye within sight distance did a discrete once over of her. How well he knew she was worth looking at. Her figure hugging slacks, and summerly short sleeve blouse showed off her curves to beautiful advantage. Fred sighed. He watched as she looked over the stage until her eyes found him. His breath hitched as she caught sight of him, and a broad smile broke over her face. She grabbed the hand of whomever she was bringing to set today and plowed through the crew and cameras to reach him.

“Hiya, Fred!” she said, her cheery smile making his insides warm. “How’s it going today?”

“Oh, fine, just fine,” he answered, looking more closely at the tall gentleman she was dragging behind her. 

“Fred, I want you to meet Howard Hughes,” she said, pulling Howard into view, “Howard, meet Fred Astaire.”

The men shook hands, six foot four inch tall Howard towering over Fred. Ginger looked indescribably tiny next to him, like a miniature doll. Fred always thought that her forceful personality made her seem much larger than life. With her hanging on this giant’s arm, it rang alarm bells and brought out every protective instinct in him. He doubted that she would appreciate it, though.

“Howard is touring the stages with me today, she explained.

Fred looked Howard over. He’d heard about him, of course, who hadn’t? Howard was a very successful businessman, a successful pilot, a budding film maker and a very, very wealthy man. He contemplated that she sure had a flare for mixing it up with other dramatic persons. Hughes was rumored to be quite the ladies’ man, too, dating every actress who would say yes. Fred took an instant dislike to him. 

“Oh, well, enjoy,” he said to the man who would eventually own RKO studios in another few years. 

Howard nodded, looking around at everything, absorbing it like a sponge. His sharp eyes took in every detail. Around them on the stage, crewmembers were starting to realize whom Ginger had brought to the stage today and Fred could see the news travel around the set in quiet whispers. 

“Thanks, and if you’d ever like to play a game of golf, give me a shout,” Howard answered. Apparently, Ginger had told him of his love of the game. 

“Sounds like fun,” he said, though it sounded nothing like fun. Howard said it like it was a challenge, an opportunity to get in some one-upmanship. Fred wanted nothing to do with him. That she could like such an odd fellow grated on his nerves. 

With a polite nod, Howard moved off to talk to the Director, practically dragging Ginger behind him. 

“See you later, Fred!” she called. 

*************************

After shooting a small scene, Fred retired to his dressing room. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and sat, putting his feet up on the table and picking up the newspaper. He had a half hour before they would be ready on set for him again. Just enough time to relax a bit and take some time for himself.

A knock on the door startled him. 

He yanked open the door to find Ginger on the other side. 

“Oh, hi!” he said, surprised. He looked into the hallway behind her. “Where’s your tall friend?”

Ginger walked into his dressing room like she owned it. Sitting down on his couch and putting her feet on his coffee table, she collapsed dramatically as if exhausted.  


“Oh, he said had to run suddenly and said he’d find his way out,” she answered, “He asks so many questions! Questions, questions, questions. Wants to know about everything. I let him talk to Mark and they were chatting like bosom buddies when I left.”

Fred nodded, envisioning it. There was nothing Mark liked better than to toot his own horn. A conversation with a fascinated millionaire who wanted to get into the movies would keep them both busy for a while.

“So, you escaped to come here,” he said. She really didn’t need an excuse to hang out in his dressing room, but he’d accept whatever excuse she could come up with. 

“Yeah.”

“So, are you seeing Howard then, too?” he asked, hoping it sounded casual. He leaned in the doorway, then thought better of it, and shut the door. He leaned against the now shut door and tried to figure out how to get more information out of her without sounding like he was snooping. 

“Yeah, a little.” She sounded defensive. “He’s a good dancer, though it’s a little awkward since he’s so tall.” She fiddled with the hem of her blouse, pulling on a string.

Fred could imagine. It was one of the reasons he loved dancing with Ginger; she was the perfect height and build to compliment his size. However, he didn’t like the image of Howard dancing with her. Then again, he didn’t like the image of her dancing with anyone else, regardless of how inane that was. He frowned, thinking she was being a little bit spiteful, trotting out her dates in front of him.

“Well, I’m not sure I like him,” he groused, “There’s something off about him.”

“Oh, Fred, don’t be like that,” she answered, yanking the dangling string out with a snap. “He seems nice enough, and we’ve been to some really nice restaurants and stuff. And besides, you don’t get to say who I date or don’t date.”

“Yeah, well…” he grumbled. It was true, he was overstepping his bounds. “What’s Lew think about Howard?”

“You leave Lew out of this. Who I date is my business.” She stood up angrily, and took a step towards the door. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated. There’s nothing wrong with liking to have a man around under foot.” 

“I know that.” He stepped away from the door, aware that he was blocking her exit. He walked to the window and gazed out at the summery day; usually summer lifted his mood, but today he only felt flustered. It began to feel like a dance as they circled around each other, the give and take of conversation matched by their steps.

She wasn’t finished. Clearly, he had pushed some buttons. “I like going to nice places and doing fun things, you know. It’s not like you can take me out. I’m not going to sit at home and mope around.”  


“I know, I know. And you know I can’t get divorced after being married for three months and run off with you.” He added snarkily, “Even if I wanted to.” 

For a moment, Ginger looked like she would spark up and rage at him. Instead, she deflated like a balloon. Looking at the floor, she said, “Maybe I want YOU underfoot, you big sap.”

“Maybe I do, too, and I can’t.”

She walked to the door slowly, clutching her purse until her knuckles were white.

“This is a mess, isn’t it?” she said, turning back to him, her face tired and drawn.

He could only nod. There was nothing else to say. She shut the door quietly on her way out.

A few moments later, an Assistant Director knocked on his door to tell him they were ready for him on set. He rubbed his eyes and got back to work.

*************************************

Two days later, their fight and discussion was forgotten as they prepared to run through the Table Dance that would be the last scene in the movie. It wasn’t supposed to be a long scene, but Fred was on the verge of hyperventilating. This was the dance that had ended the career of his dance partner on Broadway, Claire Luce. They had mis-stepped on the way down, and Claire had broken her ankle. It had never healed properly, their play had ended immediately, and her dancing career was over. It had scarred Fred, and the terror of failing another dance partner was always hovering at the back of his mind. He had not wanted to include this scene in the film, but the studio had insisted. It was a fantastic looking dance move – when executed correctly.

He looked over at Ginger, his current dance partner and friend, and the image of Claire superimposed herself over her. He shuddered. She caught his glance out of the corner of her eye and reached over to squeeze his hand. 

“Fred, we’ve practiced this a hundred times. It’ll be fine,” she whispered, as Sandrich finished up some stage direction with the little boys who would be in the scene. 

He closed his eyes and tried to pull deep breaths into his lungs. She kept her hand in his. He visualized the scene in his mind, over and over, willing it to be so. Finally, Sandrich called everyone to their places. Ginger and Fred hit their marks and the song began. 

The first take was flubbed by the couch cushion suddenly falling out after her foot snagged it on the way down from the coffee table. Fred shook his hands out and stretched one final time, keeping loose, as the set was put back together. 

Again, they ran through it, and he nailed the first chair. He nailed the table. He nailed the third chair, where he held Ginger suspended and felt it through their full body contact. Her foot tagged the edge of the chair that her feet were not supposed to touch, and they were going down. She twisted and reached for a foothold upon landing, causing them both to overreach. He let go of her so that he didn’t fall on top of her and made an awkward lurch to avoid stepping on her. She hit the ground and sat there, with a surprised look on her face. In a second, she looked up at Fred, who had slid ungracefully to a stop. 

“Well, damn,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. Ginger never cried, and Fred felt panic bubbling up in his chest. “Get the medic,” she whispered, clutching her ankle. 

Immediately, Sandrich called “cut!”. 

A hush fell over the set and everyone froze where they stood. Sandrich and a half dozen people rushed to Ginger and suddenly she was surrounded by concerned people, everyone shouting opinions and directions. Surprisingly, it was Hermes who took control of the situation. 

“Give her some room, folks! Move back!” 

Ginger had never heard Hermes be so fierce before. Fred fell to his knees next to her, with his arm around her, his face white with horror. Everyone else moved back but the whispered concerns filled the stage. The First AD called for the medic, who was, strangely, nowhere to be found. A phone call was hurriedly made to a physician that the studio had on call for emergencies.

A half hour later, while an anxious Fred hovered, the doctor declared that her ankle was badly sprained and no dancing for a week, at least. Ginger grumbled that she could simply tape it and continue, but the doc was adamant. No dancing. No. Dancing. For. A. Week.

Sandrich and the AD’s retreated to their huddle behind the cameras, thumbing through his script to find something else to film for the day. The little boys in the scene were put on call for at least two weeks later and sent home, and the production team scrambled to rearrange the shooting schedule. Fortunately, Ginger’s legs were insured, and the film company wouldn’t lose any money by being forced to move scenes around to accommodate the injury. 

When the anxious crowd of people hovering to make sure she was okay was placated and dispersed, she was moved to her director’s style chair, with her leg elevated. She had ice packed around her ankle inside the bandage, and a sack wrapped around all that to keep it from dripping on the stage floor. Fred and Hermes were the last ones to hover over her. 

“Oh, god, Ginge, I’m so sorry,” Fred mumbled over and over. Hermes didn’t know who to comfort more, so he comforted them both, rubbing both Fred’s back and Ginger’s, as they sat side by side in their chairs.

Ginger was taking it much better than Fred. As a dancer, you knew not everything went perfectly every single time. She’d get over it and heal and that would be that. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wasn’t the last. Fred was making a mountain out of a molehill again. 

“Oh, Fred. Accidents happen!” She was upset about falling, and her ankle throbbed painfully, but she knew it had been her shoe that hadn’t cleared the chair. “Besides, I tapped the chair on the way down. It was totally my own fault.”

“You did? Oh, honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t give you more space,” Fred moaned. 

Even though sharp, hot spikes of pain slid up her ankle, Ginger was sure that Fred hurt more than she did. No matter what she said, he’d find a way to make it his fault. 

“Guess I’m done for the day,” she grumbled, adjusting the bandage so that ice water dribbled down her ankle and on to the floor. Immediately Fred offered to drive her home. Both she and Hermes looked at Fred in disbelief. 

“Hermes better drive me home this time, Fred,” she said sternly, though her eyes thanked him. 

Hermes remembered the horror on Fred’s face when he’d explained how much trouble he’d been in for driving Ginger home last time and nodded decisively. Sometimes he wondered what ran through his friends’ head. There was surely never a dull moment with them around, that was for sure. He’d had four years of cleaning up after Ginger, surely Fred wouldn’t be that much more trouble. Or, maybe he would, but Hermes was growing very fond of him. 

“Oh!” Fred backtracked on the offer regretfully. “Yeah, that would be the better part of wisdom.”

Together, Hermes and Fred carried Ginger between them to the Assistant Choreographer’s car. After getting her all settled in the front seat, Fred leaned into the open window. 

“I’m sorry again, Ginger,” he apologized for the hundredth time. 

She patted his hand on her arm and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll heal. I’ll see you on Monday. Try not to worry.”

With that, Hermes started his car and drove her home. Fred watched them until they were out of sight.

***************************************

Two weeks later, most of the movie was in the can, with only a couple of small scenes and the Night & Day song and dance still to be shot. 

“Ready to try this again?” Fred whispered to his dancing partner as they stood just off stage waiting to be called to set. The busy clatter of work went on around them while they were in their own little bubble, their heads together.

“Yeah, Fred, I’m always ready,” she replied lightly. 

She was so close that Fred could smell her delicate perfume. He inhaled deeply to settle his stomach. If she noticed, she didn’t react, though he already knew that she was a much better actor than him. With his hand on her elbow, he gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Thanks,” he whispered back, his eyes on the floor.

“For what, honey?” she quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly. Her brilliant blue eyes, inches away from his, were cheerful and seemed full of happiness this morning.

“For not giving up on me?” he mumbled, filled with sorrow again for hurting her. He had replayed the accident over and over in his mind a hundred times, seeing where he went wrong, reliving the pain in her eyes and her shock. That she would still show up for him amazed him.

“Fred, look at me,” she insisted, her voice growing a bit quieter, even more private. She took his hand in hers. They knew through experience that the crew would not intrude when they were like this. 

“What are you worried about? You’re the best dancer in the whole damn world. And the perfect partner for me. The fall was my fault, and I won’t let it happen again. I know you won’t drop me, and we are totally going to do this. Right now.”

He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but absolute confidence reflected there. Confidence in him, confidence in herself, confidence in them as a dancing team together. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. If Ginger believed that he was a good enough dancer, then maybe he was. His sister Adele had always told him the same thing, though their mother and the media said otherwise. There was no way he was going to betray such confidence. He would do anything to not disappoint her. He lifted his head up in challenge and was rewarded with Ginger’s slow smile. 

“Let’s go have some fun,” she said, and he nodded. 

Suddenly at their elbow, Eric Blore, Erik Rhodes, and Edward Horton crushed them all together in an unexpected group hug, mostly generated by Erik, who tended to be a party all by himself. After a chorus of well-wishes, the three men settled in chairs behind the director’s area to watch the dance and support their fellow cast members. Their appearance cheered up Fred immensely and he determined to do it right when they all gave him a thumbs up at the same time. Giving his dancing partner a much more settled nod, she squeezed his hand in return.

Sandrich called the set to order and the Table Dance began. 

It went perfectly. Fred made sure to glance down at each chair and tabletop before he anchored his foot. Ginger nearly tagged the chair again, but the film captured their huge grins as they completed the difficult maneuver, not once, but twice. They made their exit off stage and Fred grabbed up Ginger in a huge hug, taking her off her feet again. 

As Sandrich called “cut” the stage exploded into cheers. 

Behind the set wall, only two surprised electricians saw the exuberant kiss Ginger planted on a very surprised Fred. They hastily broke apart to receive the congratulations of the director, crew and cast members. Hermes was the only one who raised an eyebrow at them. The rest of the day went well.

**********************************

After they had all wrapped for the day after shooting a small scene, Fred appeared in her dressing room doorway. He was whistling his new favorite thing, a bugle call that their new rehearsal pianist, Hal, had taught him. She had been thinking about getting some dinner before going home, and gathering her things to head out, and his appearance surprised her. She thought he’d already gone home for the night. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one still high from the success of the day.

“You know this “Night & Day” song and dance is supposed to be super romantic, right, with Guy finally breaking through to Mimi?” he said to her, out of the blue, without any preamble. 

“Yes?”

“Well I’m planning on bringing my best to this dance … so be prepared.” The puckish grin on his heart shaped face made him look like a schoolboy planning a prank. 

As Fred always did his obsessive best with any dance, she was mystified. As his devilish grin grew larger, alarm bells began to play softly in the background of her mind. She gave him a bit of an evil eye in return. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m planning on making this the most romantic dance ever seen on the silver screen.”

She continued to look for her lipstick while casting glances back at her dancing partner, who was rocking back and forth on his toes, unable to hold still. Obviously, he had a nefarious plan in motion here. “Oh yeah? Hmmm… how you gonna do that? Sounds intriguing.”

“They say we have chemistry. So…. We’re gonna find out if we can set the screen on fire. And I have a little surprise planned to make you smile, just like Mimi would finally smile at Guy.”

She turned to face him full on, the lipstick momentarily forgotten. The idea of acting super romantic with Fred in front of the entire world sounded like a whole lot of fun and she was looking forward to this dance. Rehearsals of it had been a lot of fun already. Since the romance was entirely written into the script and was the culmination of the relationship between their two characters, no one could possibly complain, except maybe for Fred’s wife. “Oh, now I’m interested. What is it?” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“I like surprises.”

“You’ll know this surprise when you feel it.”

Involuntarily, she looked down at his crotch, stopped herself and caught his eyes, blushing slightly. He threw back his head, convulsed in quiet laughter. He shook his head, unable to speak for a moment, completely amused that this is where her thoughts had taken her. He would never allow something like that on film. 

“Oh good, that would be awkward to dance with and probably wouldn’t look great in the film and the Hays Code would have a cow.” She was embarrassed for even thinking it.

“Nope, none of that. Besides, I’m taking your advice now before dances, practicing those relaxation techniques we tried out.”

“Oh my god, Fred.” She tried to seem shocked, but inwardly, she liked the idea. The thought of him alone in his room and making his “O” face when he came made her clit twitch involuntarily. She tried to banish the thought.

“Hey, it works, and know that maybe you cross my mind.”

“You mean, you touch yourself thinking of me, oh how romantic. Be still my beating heart.” 

She made the sarcasm as serious as she could, which wasn’t much. His teasing was charming, even his more off-color teasing, because she knew he reserved it just for her. He would never risk being embarrassed in front of someone else like this. She loved it when he got into this playful, silly mood, too. Though how he was managing to conjure the energy to flirt after such a long day of filming was a bit of a mystery.

“You’re not making it easy for me to stay away from you when you say things like that.” She found the lost lipstick and dropped it into her clutch with a snap. Two could play this inappropriate little flirting game.

“Yeah, I know.” His smug smile was infuriating, and she wanted to stomp his toes when he did a little snap tap on the wall with one elegantly shod foot.

She turned him around and pushed him out of her dressing room ahead of her. 

“Go home, Fred.”


	5. Run for the Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With "The Gay Divorcee" nearly finished, the last thing to shoot is the "Night & Day" dance, the very first romantic duet that Fred has composed to date. His first cinematic dance duet masterpiece - and his love - will be on display forever.

Ginger and Fred, along with Hermes and their new rehearsal pianist, Hal Bourne, had rehearsed the Night & Day dance for a couple of hours this morning, but Fred had disappeared when the company broke for lunch. As they ate, Ginger’s mother Lela showed up, along with several studio executives. She sat with Ginger and Hermes, and the executives stood around the stage awkwardly, waiting for everyone to return to work after lunch. Fortunately, it should only be a few more minutes. 

There was electricity in the air today. “Night & Day” was the first dance that Fred had ever choreographed for a partner, and rumors had seeped out to the crew and publicity departments that it was something novel. It had been postponed when Ginger had sprained her ankle. Now, it was last up and everyone was either anxious or excited. 

Hermes watched Ginger fret out of the corner of his eye as they sat together eating their sandwiches. Her eyes continually wandered to the stage door, though she managed to carry on a conversation with him quite well, considering that only half of her attention was on him and her mother. The sudden change in routine flustered her.

Ginger usually was cool as a cucumber before a dance. However, usually she and Fred sat in a huddle before the dance, whispering together and getting into the zone. Today, Fred was strangely absent. Hermes hadn’t wanted her to sit alone on the set, so he had gamely occupied Fred’s chair and tried to keep her busy. She nibbled at her sandwich and potato salad, looking a little bit lost without her dance partner but determined to plow through. Lela usually had a very calming effect on Ginger, but today it wasn’t helping much.

Finally, the First AD called for everyone to resume their places. With some grumbling and chatter, the crew returned from lunch and got ready for what was likely to be a long afternoon-evening shooting this dance number. Sandrich tended to be a stop-and-go director for the dances, so it involved many different set ups. Fortunately, he had decided to run two cameras today, so there would be less set up than usual. However, that meant that the cameras weren’t able to move around that much. It was going to be a difficult shoot and everyone was glad that when it was done, the movie was wrapped.  


Ginger removed the huge tablecloth that covered her dress while she ate and handed it back to the wardrobe assistant hovering at her elbow. Giving Hermes hand a squeeze and a quick hug to her mom, she nodded to the director and stood on her mark, ready for the first take. She ran over her cues in her mind, still wondering where Fred was.

He must have been just out of sight around the side of the set, because when the music started, he was there. He looked fantastic in his tuxedo, his hair silked down and stage makeup perfect. The moment he turned towards her, she felt the energy in the room shift from tired-at-the-end-of-a-movie-shoot to vibrant and dynamic. Ginger hoped that people would see just how talented Fred was with this dance. Usually dances were just inserted as part of the show, designed to entertain. Fred had decided to use them as part of the story telling medium – incorporating the dance into the plot, keeping it moving along. It remained to be seen if it would sell or not. Ginger was betting that it would. She was proud to be a part of this collaborative effort in introducing a new original idea into the medium of dance. If it was successful, it would make all those long hours of rehearsal worth the pain and sweat that they had poured into it. That he had choreographed this masterpiece especially and specifically for her, beyond anything that he had created with Claire Lune, his former dancing partner for the stage show, thrilled her. The dances that they had shared on screen until now – the ‘Carioca’, the ‘Table Dance’, the ‘Continental’ – were nothing like the romantic duet of ‘Night & Day’. She took a cleansing breath and slid into character.

The script simply said that Guy sang to Mimi, and then they danced. That’s not exactly what happened. The moment Fred looked at her, she felt that she was the only one in the room. His intensity took her breath away. His attention was completely, and utterly, focused on her. His entire body leaned towards her and she had to remember to keep acting as he serenaded her and poured out his heart into the song. 

“Like the beat beat beat of the tom-toms  
When the jungle shadows fall  
Like the tick tick tock of the stately clock  
As it stands against the wall  
Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops  
When the summer shower is through  
So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you”

Fred/Guy sang to her as if his very life depended on her hearing and understanding these words. 

“Night and day, you are the one  
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun  
Whether near to me or far  
It's no matter darling where you are  
I think of you… Night and day,”

The lines between fiction and real life blurred, and suddenly she felt very uncomfortable. She moved away from him a smidgen, withdrawing from the intensity of his gaze and intentions.

“… day and night why is it so  
That this longing for you follows wherever I go  
In the roaring traffic's boom  
In the silence of my lonely room  
I think of you  
Night and day”

She couldn’t look him in the eye, and instead focused on his lips as he sang. He had told her once that she occupied his thoughts whenever Phyllis’ son Peter went to bed, and it was just he and his wife alone in the big house on the hill. Even side by side with her, he still felt alone. She couldn’t banish the thought.

At this point in the dance, Ginger/Mimi leapt up from the balcony seat and tried to escape, but Guy cut her off. Fred leaned in appealingly to her again, the hunger clear in his eyes as his back was turned to the camera. The deep river of Fred’s private soul was in plain view, urging her to fall in and be swept away.

“Under the hide of me  
There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me  
And this torment won't be through  
Until you let me spend my life making  
Love to you day and night, Night and Day”

Still his eyes probed hers, and she had to look away, look anywhere but at him and his sincere eyes. His words stabbed at her heart. Songwriter Cole Porter must have looked into Fred’s soul to come up with these lyrics. Desperately, she ran over the music cues in her mind. She gazed out onto the green screen that would eventually show a moonlit night on an ocean beach front and focused on the set piece. Fortunately, all the uncomfortable feelings that ran through her mind were exactly the ones that would be shared by Mimi. And still he sang to her, his voice sincere, his hazel eyes soft and full of longing for her, dragging her from her professional viewpoint into his song of passion.

The stage music swelled, so she could hear their musical cues more easily. Mimi turned her back on Guy, but Ginger could hear his tapping feet following, and the first part of the dance began. Three times she tried to escape the empty room, and three times Guy cut her off, running in front of her and blocking her exit. Ginger let herself melt into the character, feeling Mimi’s indecision and confusion. Since she frequently felt the pull and retreat of their own relationship, it was a simple thing to embody. 

As Mimi again tries to escape Guy, his strong hand caught her wrist and she turned. Guy/Fred did his supplicating little dance, trying to convince her to stay but Mimi was having none of it. Her character was there for one reason, to free herself of a loveless marriage and not to get involved with someone. Ginger clung to her character’s plotline. It was up to Guy to convince Mimi to give him a chance. Ginger was glad that the characters eventually got together, because how anyone cold say no to Fred/Guy was beyond her. And it was beyond her. She could never tell him no; not for long. Not when he looked at her like that, with eyes imploring her to stay. Mimi turned to walk away again, but her heart was no longer in the flight. Just like Ginger, she wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

With a firmer grasp than he had used in rehearsal, Fred pulled her back towards him and they ended up face to face, inches apart. Her eyes flew wide in surprise. They were so close, she could feel his warm, minty breath on her face as he led her. In rehearsal, they had always been cheek to cheek, but Fred’s hold kept them eye to eye, an inch apart. His hands became infinitely gentle as he led her backwards, and she dutifully executed her dip. His eyes followed her movements appreciatively, giving her a thrill of adrenaline that had nothing to do with anything in the script. Fred/Guy pulled her close, then closer still, their bodies pressed tightly against one another, their faces an inch apart again. After a series of spins, he spooled her out, then trapped her with her own arm, his hand holding hers tightly.

That’s when she noticed it. His hand was awfully high. In fact, his hand was on her breast, clasped to hers. When they did the little bouncy step, his hand cupped her breast each time. Fred was holding her close, his eyes twinkling with mischief now, Guy somewhere forgotten for the moment. This must be his surprise, she thought. In the full sight of the entire crew and cameras, he was caressing her intimately and no one was the wiser. Probably. She pulled her other arm up, blocking their hands from full view. Damn his ability to intuit exactly what the camera could and could not see. As it was appropriate for Mimi to smile at Guy at this point in the dance, she let a small smile play at her lips in acknowledgement. She felt her face warm up and was happy that the dance quickly spun her out to arm’s length. 

Fred put her into a series of twirls, and they were dancing apart but mirroring each other. She tried to calm her racing heart and catch her breath and focused on regaining her equilibrium. Her heart pounded so loudly that she wouldn’t be surprised if the sound recording equipment could hear it.

The dance brought them around, and her body carried through with the move, the pattern drilled into her muscle memory. Face to face with Fred, she mirrored his intense eye contact, dancing closer until his hand curled around her waist, drawing her in to him. With both their faces hidden from the camera, he winked at her with perfect timing, sliding easily back into character as they came out of the move twirling away from one another. Mimi danced to one end of the stage with Guy pursuing, and suddenly they were acting again. She pushed him away, and fled to the upper portion of the balcony, from which there is no escape. Just like Mimi, there was no escape for her from Fred, as he pursued her up the steps and claimed her, as she always wished Fred would claim her. 

She shivered in anticipation as Mimi finally let go of her fears, surrendered to Guy’s adoration and they finally danced together as a duo. Fred put her into a secure dance hold in his arms and they danced across the floor and back, cheek to cheek, in an ecstasy of motion. Finally, the end of the dance was in sight and she gave it everything she had. The strong balletic moves came naturally in Fred’s talented, secure hands. As those strong hands set her down lightly on the bench seat, his eyes were tender and full of adoration. With a thrill, Ginger realized that this was all Fred, and for this moment, Guy was completely an afterthought once again. 

With an impish grin, Fred reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. She knew what he was going to ask before he did it, even though this wasn’t in the script. He cheekily offered her a cigarette. Without dialog to guide her, all she could do was reject it, shaking her head and trying not to smile. 

When Sandrich yelled “cut”, it startled them both out of their reverie. Suddenly Ginger remembered that there was a whole crew of people just outside of the stage lights, and she flushed. Fred reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. Daring to glance up at him, he looked pleased as punch. 

“Ah, well done!” he whooped, ignoring some of the wolf whistles from the crew and the scattered applause. She answered his bright smile, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He certainly hadn’t been kidding when he teased about bringing his A game to the dance today. Maybe she should have accepted that cigarette after all. 

Sandrich was suddenly at her elbow, talking about a second take and Ginger snapped back into business mode. Fred still held her hand and stroked her fingers with his other hand. It was such an intimate thing, yet no one on set seemed to notice. When they all turned back to get to their workstations, she grabbed one of his lapels and held on, pulling him closer.

“Fred, that was a gorgeous dance,” she whispered, running her fingers slowly down under the lapel, “That was amazing.”

Suddenly bashful and watching his toes, he whispered, "Thanks."

“And your surprise was… surprising, all right.” She felt her face heating up again at the remembrance of his touch. He glanced up quickly. The sparkle in his eyes told her that he was euphoric at having gotten away with it and delighted that she was amused by it.

“And you’re incorrigible,” she added. He did a little tap exclamation in acknowledgement, winked at her again in their private conspiracy, and returned to his mark.

Hermes and Lela came over to congratulate Ginger quickly. She’d forgotten that her mother was there watching. Blushing again, she read the disapproving look in her eyes as she had watched their little private conversation and the byplay. She knew she’d hear about it when she got home. She wondered just how much her mother had seen; how much anyone had seen. Everyone around her looked delighted; there were no looks that could be interpreted as disapproval. Hermes, however, was delighted at the dance and said so. She flashed them both a quick, relieved grin and returned to the stage. 

In her heart Ginger knew which take they’d be printing, or at least most of it. This dance was such a perfect reflection of their relationship – the romance and beauty of it, with a spicy little bit of private naughtiness just between the two of them. In high spirits, she willfully danced for numerous more takes, until Sandrich was satisfied that he had it all covered from every angle. The reshoots seemed to take forever, and she didn't know why he bothered. She tried her best to duplicate the emotions that ran over in the first take, and some of it would be usable, but she knew Fred would insist upon that first one. Their “surprise” would be on celluloid forever. They finished shooting the scene, but her mind was still on the dance.

“And that’s a wrap, folks!” Sandrich hollered at the end of the last shot. 

The crew cheered and Fred and Ginger joined them. The end of a film where everyone got along was a bittersweet thing. It meant parting from co-workers and friends and moving on to other projects after living in each other’s back pocket for weeks or months. It was something you got used to, but it was never easy on a good show. The crew and cast mingled and made plans to see each other again at the wrap party. After signing autographs and taking photos, everyone went their separate ways, and the set began to shut down for the night. Lela gave Ginger a peck on the cheek and said she’d see her at home later, and left after congratulating Mark Sandrich on a job well done. It was late, and Lela was usually a morning person, just like her daughter.  


She could see Mark rush up to Fred and engage him in a long, enthusiastic conversation, presumably thanking him for a great job on the movie. Fred nodded unenthusiastically, clearly ready to leave for the night. She knew better than to expect the same from Sandrich. He usually gave her the cold shoulder, and she didn't understand why. As the two split, Mark passed her and said only, "Nice job." He continued on his way, barely pausing. Fred got caught up by studio executives, who wrung his hand repeatedly. 

As she was saying one last goodbye to the make up team, Hermes popped up behind them, waiting patiently. When the women moved off, he rushed over to her and caught her up in a bear hug. 

“That was fantastic!” he gushed, “Even better than anything we did in rehearsals!”

“Thanks, Hermes,” she replied, her smile lighting up the room. “I didn’t know that I could dance like that.”

“It was beautiful, Ginger, truly beautiful,” he said, “Speaking of beautiful, how about some beautiful pasta at that Italian place down the street from my house some night soon?”

“That sounds lovely!” She was already sad at the prospect of not seeing his happy face every day. 

“It’s a date, then,” he said, and practically skipped away, meeting Fred along the way and giving him a hearty handshake, then pulling him in for an unexpected hug. 

Fred rushed up before she turned away to wardrobe to get out of the dancing dress.

“Hey, don’t leave before seeing me?” he asked plaintively. “I’m leaving in a couple of days and won’t get to see you for a while.”

He had already warned her that he would be traveling. At least she couldn’t be tempted to meet up with him outside of work. Maybe it was better this way. She rewarded him with a warm smile. She wanted a few more minutes of time with him, too. “Of course not.”

***********************

As the frilly pink dancing dress slid to the floor in the dressing area and she stepped out of it, Ginger wiped a small tear from her eye. Removing the sparkling jeweled necklace, she came down from the shooting high and felt more like herself with each Mimi garment that was shed. At last she was just Ginger again. With a huff of regret, she handed them both out the door to the wardrobe assistant and changed back into her street clothes, pulling on the slacks and blouse, tired out by the long, emotional day. 

A sharp rap on the door brought her out of herself. 

“Miss G, we’re closing up for the night, are you ready?” the wardrobe assistants were still out there patiently waiting for her, and she was in here woolgathering. She quickly shoved her feet into her shoes and hastily smoothed her outfit. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Fred hovering in the background.

After saying goodbye to the women in wardrobe, she and Fred walked hand in hand back to her dressing room. Squeezing past her, Fred rushed into the room first, and grabbed up a huge bouquet of long stem red roses. With a broad grin that made his homely face handsome, he held them out to her.

“Oh, for me?” She was overwhelmed at the unexpected gift. She took the note stuck into the bouquet and slipped it into her pocket to read later. Even if it was just a polite note, she couldn’t face it right now with the chaos of parting swirling within her. “They are beautiful!” 

“Roses for the rose, of course.” 

She buried her nose in them and couldn’t help the smile that crinkled at the edge of her eyes. Seeing that she was pleased, Fred made himself comfortable on her couch. She set the flowers on her makeup table and settled on the chair a safe distance away from him. She wasn’t sure she could control herself if she sat next to him after that dance.

“Fred, again, the dance was amazing. It took my breath away. It was genius, and I hope that everyone will see that. It felt so different on set than what we did in rehearsals.” She hesitated, “I’ve never been asked to dance like that before.”

“Maybe I should ask more often, then.”

“Maybe you should.” Their eyes met and held, brilliant blue and warm hazel. She could practically feel his hands on her waist and his lips inches from her own during the dance, and desire coursed through her. The electricity in the room sent tingles up her spine. 

“So, I have news, too!” Fred broke the moment, backing down but still grinning ear to ear and sitting up straighter. Ginger was willing to hear anything that would distract her from the impulse to cross the room and crawl into his lap. 

“Oh yeah?” she answered. She found herself out of breath, like she’d just ran a race.

“Our next movie just got greenlit!” he enthused. “It’ll start shooting in mid-November, just like I suspected.”

She had already anticipated that the studio would want to put them together in another movie. Her agent had already warned her that it was a strong possibility, though she was starting a new movie without Fred on Monday titled “Romance in Manhattan” with actor Francis Lederer. That meant that as soon as that one wrapped, she would be straight back into dance rehearsals. No rest for the weary, she thought. On the other hand, there was some wisdom to striking while the iron was hot, too. 

All this work was very exciting. People were liking her on film, and “The Gay Divorcee” was poised to be box office gold for RKO, with a lot of good buzz on the street already. At least another movie would keep her mind occupied while she tried to sort out her love life – between Fred, Howard, and Lew, it was a bit of a mess. Maybe the message that she’d gotten earlier in the day was from Leland, her agent. The note still was unopened on her makeup table, now partially obscured by the enormous bunch of flowers. Now that she looked at it more closely, she recognized the stationary.

“That’s wonderful news, Fred,” she answered. It was. She couldn’t imagine not working with him again; it wasn’t to be considered. She wanted more dramatic roles, but for now, this work situation was very satisfactory. 

“What’s wonderful news?” A new voice intruded, and Ginger jumped in fright.

Lew leaned against the door frame. His sharp eyes took in everything, glancing from Ginger to Fred and back again.

“Lew! I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were still shooting tonight.” Lew was working on his latest movie, “Let’s Be Ritzy”. They must have wrapped early, which didn’t bode well. Usually films went late on Friday nights, finishing up all their work for the week. She had hoped to have some time with Fred after their movie wrapped tonight, and now it wasn’t going to happen. She tried to keep the disappointment off her face. 

“Oh, our next movie will be starting in November, after “Romance” shoots.” She answered breezily, coming to him, and sliding under his arm. He gave her a squeeze and looked over at Fred.

Fred had his polite mask on his face as he stood up to shake his hand. “Hello, Lew.”

The two men stared each other down, polite smiles painted on their faces while their eyes sparred, and their hands squeezed. Neither had forgotten the night in the hammock incident.

“We’d better get going, sweetheart,” Lew said finally, letting go of Fred’s hand and finding Ginger’s light sweater on the back of her chair. He helped her into it. The huge bouquet of flowers on the makeup table was hard to miss. “Who’s the flowers from?”

“Oh, the production company sent them,” Fred replied unexpectedly. Ginger glanced at him in surprise, then hid her reaction. If Fred didn’t want Lew to know that the flowers came from him, then there was probably a reason. Lew tucked the bouquet under one arm and held out the other for Ginger. 

She studied Fred’s face. There was so much more to say, and now it was impossible. The abrupt end to the evening flustered her. Instead of taking his arm, she pushed past Lew to the table and picked up the note from her agent, and stuffed that into her pocket, too. Turning back to Fred now, there was nothing to do but say goodbye, and a cool goodbye at that.

“It was a good movie, Fred! See you in a few months,” she said awkwardly. And with that, Lew held out his arm even more imperiously. Haltingly, she took it and he escorted her out of the room. With a backwards glance, she barely caught a last sight of Fred, his soft hazel eyes following them out with the same yearning look he’d worn during their dance. 

********************************

A half hour later, Fred had cleared out all of his personal belongings from his dressing room. He didn’t have anything lined up until “Roberta” began filming, and the company would need the dressing room for the next short term occupant. He had planned a bit of a vacation with Phyllis and Peter in Ireland visiting Delly, but his heart was not into it. He stomped around his room, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before he left the soundstage. He had really wanted to spend at least a few more minutes with Ginger before parting and probably not seeing her for several months. Lew showing up like that really annoyed him. After all, he hadn’t showed up to see any of her hard work on the film. But, it wasn’t his business to say what he could or could not do. Still, Lew just irked him. He slammed the door behind him and made his way to his car.

As he briskly walked out to the parking lot, the huge bouquet of roses was sticking out of the top of a trash can. He slowed at the sight, his mind filling incrementally with rage. He knew she hadn’t put them there. Shuffling his belongings into one arm, he carefully pulled out one rose and tucked it in with his things, careful of the thorns. Cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world, he walked to his car alone. He placed the rose on his dashboard where he could see it and leaned his head on his steering wheel for a long moment. He drove home in silence.


	6. This Teams Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When those you love most continually break your heart, sometimes you just need a different perspective on it all.

Ginger shuffled out her front door in her slippers to retrieve the mail from the box. The usual junk was there – some bills, the morning paper, and a letter with no return address. Curious, she slipped the other mail under her arm and slid a finger under the flap and opened the note. She tossed the other mail onto the kitchen counter and read the letter.

It was unsigned, just a slip of paper attached by a paperclip to a larger piece of letterhead. The typed note said:

“Thought you might find this interesting.” 

She removed it and continued reading. The letterhead was Fred’s. The date on the letter looked like it had been erased, and it was a copy. It said:

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Leland, 

What's all this talk about me being teamed with Ginger Rogers? I will not have it Leland--I did not go into pictures to be teamed with her or anyone else, and if that is the program in mind for me, I will not stand for it. I don't mind making another picture with her but as for this teams idea, it's out.

Call me to discuss. 

Fred

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ginger forgot how to breathe. Clutching the notes, she sank to the floor. For a moment, the room got darker as the typed words became the only thing she could see clearly and stars sparkled along the edges of her sight. She re-read the note a dozen times, but the words were the same terrible words every time. Her eyes flooded with tears, and she took a shuddering breath. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Everything hurt.

After everything they had done, Fred did not want to work with her? He had seemed delighted at the prospect of making “Roberta” soon. Maybe he had reconciled with his wife during the last six weeks while he’d been away. Maybe he'd changed his mind about dancing with her. Maybe she’d been mistaken that they could work together. 

The idea of Fred rejecting her without even letting her know personally was devastating. The betrayal gutted her.

But there it was in print. That was definitely his signature. There was no denying it. Fred didn't want to work with her. 

Fred didn’t want her. 

Getting to her feet, she had only one thought. She needed to get away. The walls of her home closed in around her and she needed to think without everyone pressuring her. She had no idea what to do now. Howard wouldn’t leave her alone, Lew was pressuring her to consider marriage and Fred didn’t want anything to do with her. It was all too much. 

Fortunately, no one was home to see her in such a state. Lela had taken Phyllis to breakfast this morning while Ginger had lounged around after wrapping her "Romance in Manhattan" movie yesterday, and they were planning on doing some shopping later. They wouldn’t be home for hours and she was grateful for that. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breath came in short gasps as her fractured world closed in around her and everything she thought she knew was proven for a lie.

Crushing the letter and stuffing it into her pocket, she rushed to her room and threw some clothing into a bag. Going to the safe, she pulled out a stack of bills and half of their gas ration coupons. She hesitated at reaching for her car keys. Her car was a special edition 1929 Duessenberg, very identifiable. Instead, she took her cousin’s keys. She drove a much more modest Chevrolet AD coach. It would be less conspicuous, and she didn’t want to be recognized right now. She just wanted to drive and think, and maybe rage and scream, and drive some more. 

She scribbled a note and threw it on the kitchen counter. 

Taking her things, she slammed the door behind her and fled.

*******************

A loud, insistent banging on the door awoke Fred from a deep slumber. He sat up, completely discombobulated, and rubbed at his face to shake off the sleep and the heavy jet lag. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard something or if he’d dreamed it, until he heard another series of hard bangs. Easing out of the covers quietly, so as not to wake Phyllis, he pulled on his pajama bottoms and swiftly ran down the stairs to the main floor to see what son of a bitch was hammering on his door at nine in the morning. This had better be good. He flung the front door open, making the Halloween decorations swing wildly from their hook, and scowled mightily. 

Lew stood on his doorstep, and roughly stomped inside. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, pushing Fred up against the wall. His face was nearly purple with rage.

Fred shook his hands off of him, ducked under his arms and was away faster than Lew was expecting. 

“What the hell are you talking about? Who?” he hissed back, straightening his pajama top angrily. Adrenaline was replacing the jet lag quickly. 

“Who do you think, Fred?” Lew spit out, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Oh. Ginger? How the hell should I know?” he replied, rapidly waking up now. “We just got back from Ireland last night.”

Behind the men, Phyllis came down the stairs, pulling her robe around her and just as angry at being rudely awoken as Fred was. 

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Phyllis demanded, all 5 foot 2 of her filled with outrage. She stabbed Lew in the chest with her pointer finger. “And why would Fred know where Ginger is? We just got back to Los Angeles and we were catching up on sleep. How rude.”

Lew angrily banged his hand on the wall, but shuffled backwards, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He glowered angrily at Fred and avoided looking at Phyllis. 

“Why don’t you start from the top?” Fred said frostily, pulling Phyllis away from Lew to a safer distance, and crossing his arms over his chest. He pointedly did not invite the man into the house, and they stood in the entryway, with cold, late October morning air drafting into their home.

“Fine.” Lew glowered at Fred for a moment, drew in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob, then spoke. “Lela is worried sick and called me. Ginger never came home last night. Her car is in the driveway, but her cousin Phyllis’ car is gone. She left a note saying she was going for a drive and that’s it. No one has seen her since.”

Fear erupted in Fred. Not even answering Lew, he flew to the telephone in the kitchen and dialed Ginger’s phone number. Lew and Phyllis followed him. He didn't care that they witnessed that he knew her phone number by heart.

“Lela, what’s going on?” he demanded when a tinny voice answered through the receiver. 

The tinny voice continued for a moment, and Fred answered, “No, we only just got back into town late last night. I have no idea.” 

Lela’s voice continued for a few moments, and Fred’s knuckles grew white on the phone. “Okay, well, let me know, please.”

He hung up the phone, visibly shaking, and turned back to Lew and Phyllis, concern naked on his face. His voice cracked.

“You’re right. She's gone.”


End file.
